Only For A Moment
by Lyswenn
Summary: [SPOILERS EPISODE 5] After the traumatizing week she has just experienced, Max is left broken and torn. Victoria sees it all, unraveling before her eyes, and she soon finds herself battling with the emotions emerging in her. But can they really support each other, when their desires, needs and memories differ? (1st person POV, Chasefield.) Cover by genesiswings.
1. A tomorrow - Max

**SPOILERS EPISODE 5.** This is set right after the ending.

 **Note:** I wrote this with the thought that Victoria has had a crush on Max for a while already (a tsundere crush, but a crush nonetheless).  
[EDIT] Decided to make it a multichapter story!

* * *

A TOMORROW [MAX]

* * *

I rush to my desk, my feet stamping heavily against my burgundy carpet.

Until I turn around, walking to my door hurriedly.

And back.

Back again.

Over and over again.

My feet hurt from practically running, in circles, in my own room. My head hurts from running in circle, in my own mind.

But nothing can possibly compare to the pain in my chest. Stinging, burning, crushing. I clutch at the black fabric covering my torso, desperately wishing I could rip my heart out of my ribcage. Wishing for the ache to cease.

Nathan killed Chloe.

 _No, you're the one who did_.

I send a hand to my forehead, hitting it hard enough for the pain to resonate through my skull. I yelp, remembering the agonizing headache I already had. I glance at my digits, now covered in the tears that have been inevitably pouring out of my eyes for the past two hours.

I hate this. I hate feeling so weak, so powerless. I have tried, _so damn hard_ , to be strong. Ever since I saw David weep in the bathroom upon finding his step-daughter in a puddle of blood, I knew I had to stay strong. I had the opportunity to spend more time with Chloe, but he didn't. And neither did Joyce.

I had to stay strong, at least for them.

 _You're responsible for their pain._

I choke down another sob, forcing my eyelids shut as if it would block the thoughts from entering my mind. It's useless. I know it. I know it because I've been trying ever since I stepped into my room, not even bothering to change out of the beautiful black dress I wore especially for today.

Today is the day we all got to properly say goodbye to Chloe. Or at least, to the wood concealing her body.

And I can't take off that dress. I can't let this day draw to an end, I am not ready for tomorrow. I don't want a 'tomorrow' with no Chloe, I don't want a 'tomorrow' where her name becomes a taboo, a subject no one dares to bring up, careful of not breaking the mournful.

I don't want to live a 'tomorrow' with that same pain.

 _You could have prevented it all._

"Fuck it!"

I throw my hand on the wall this time, which it meets with a loud "thud". Fuck it. Fuck that wall. Fuck that hand.

Yeah, fuck that hand. How could I ever think I could change anything by just lifting it? I raised it so many times, actually thinking I was doing some good. I was so convinced I was fixing things that I could not even hear them break.

 _You thought you could control everybody and everything?_

Not again. Not again. Not again.

I am so tired of hearing this, over and over again. It doesn't even matter what I do, or what I think, it will never be _right_. There is no _right_ choice, as much as I want to convince myself my decision was the rightest one.

What was I supposed to do? Leave the whole town to die? Because I earned powers, for some reason I can't fathom, and because I misused them? This whole tornado was my fault. Everyone could have died because of me.

 _They died because of you._

This thought hits much harder. Hard enough for me to stumble on my bed, looking for balance. I end up knees on the floor, elbows on the blanket. I can't find the strength within me to pull myself up. I can't.

Kate, Nathan, Victoria, David, Joyce, Warren, Evan… they all died. Along with so many others, so many empty eyes, pale faces. So many death and fear, permanently carved in my mind. I can try and close my eyes, but these memories won't disappear, I can still see corpses, I can still hear cries, tormenting me.

 _You killed everyone._

The door slams open and shut and I jerk my head up.

"Max, I heard you-"

Before I can even process that Victoria is in my room, she rushes towards me. I have no time to blink that she's crouching by my side, one hand carefully placed on my shoulder. Her eyebrows are furrowed over her eyes, which are devoid of any trace of animosity. She actually looks… concerned. She looks _alive_.

I suddenly remember that I'm on the floor, I've been bawling my eyes out, and it probably shows on my face. I try to distance myself from her, try to hide the mess I've become, try to put on my strong persona, the one who is there for everyone and is actually somewhat sane. But I can't. I only manage to sob some more. I cross my arms on the mattress, then rest my face on them. I don't want to be seen like this. I want her to leave, to pretend the admirable Max has never broken, act as if she has never seen me in such a pathetic state.

But I also want her to stay. I want her to show me that she is here, _here_ , in my room, with me, and not actually six feet under.

Her hand travels from one of my shoulder to the other, and I can feel her arm against my back and I shiver at her touch. She shifts closer to me, her body presses slightly against my side, and I let myself bathe in her warmth.

She is here. Not in the dark room. Her hands aren't tied – her thumb is drawing circles on my skin. She isn't pleading for life – she is whispering low "sssh" to calm me down. She isn't dead. She's alive. And safe.

My loud cries slowly turn into muffled whimpers, and it seems that Victoria notices as she moves a bit closer.

"Do you want to lie on the bed?"

Her voice sounds soft, incredibly so. I shake my head - I don't want to move, I don't have the strength.

She hums a little before holding me closer. This makes my breath run short, and I think my entire body just shuddered. I can feel the blanket below me move, and as I look up, I see her tugging at it. I lift my arms up enough for her to pull the duvet and wrap it around my shoulders. It feels warm, but it doesn't at the same time. It isn't the warmth I seek, the warmth I need.

I must have been staring at her funny, because she tilts her head, sending me a confused look. Her cheeks and nose are red, and I can also see hints of it where the white of her eyes should be. Glancing down, I only now notice that she is still wearing her suit. It only dawns on me now that she is mourning, too. It strikes a chord in me, for some reason.

I slowly lean forward, before my head presses against her chest, my cheek resting just below her collarbone. I feel so drained, and defeated, but her touch provides me with the comfort I so desperately crave. She reaches for the blanket that has fallen off and bring it over my shoulders again, before wrapping her arms around my petite form. I bring mine to her sides, grasping the fabric of her suit in my hands. I half-expect her to scold me, but she doesn't, and rests her head on mine instead, quietly.

I close my eyes, take in the sensations fully.

It doesn't even matter to me anymore that we're both sitting on the floor, or that the bed is unpleasantly pressing against my side.

She smells so nice, and her caresses are truly gentle, caring and... loving. She makes me want to curl into a small ball, snuggle into her arms and forget about the whole universe. But instead, a little thump reaches my ear, then another, and another and I focus solemnly on the sound. I can hear her heart beating, and my own stutters at the realization. I feel her breath brush against my hair, and that does it. I begin sobbing again, and I hear her inhale sharply as she presses me closer to her body.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she whispers with a broken voice.

I open my eyes and shake my head again.

When, truthfully, I want to. I want to talk, I want to tell her everything. But how could I? I am filled with memories she doesn't remember. She doesn't remember getting paint over her precious cashmere, she doesn't remember softening up to me when I comforted her, she doesn't remember sending her apologies to Kate, she doesn't remember admitting she wanted to hang out with me, she doesn't remember confessing that I was one of the coolest people at school, she doesn't remember being locked in the dark room with me, she doesn't remember I caused her to die by actually trying to save her.

And she is holding me in her arms, as if none of that happened – and it didn't to her, but it did to me.

How can I explain this to her? How can I tell her how unbelievably glad I am that she is breathing? That her heart is beating, when it shouldn't be?

She raises her hand to my cheek to caress it slowly, and she shifts her head to press her lips hesitantly against my forehead. It feels strangely intimate, out of place even. But it is much appreciated, as I dwell in the warmness of her affection, releasing a heavy sigh.

I close my eyes again, and I feel my respiration slow down, gradually matching hers. It becomes the only thing I hear, along with the gentle pounding of her heart.

And in her tender embrace, I drift off to a sleep, for the first time devoid of any nightmare.

No terrorizing dreams. No pain. No jolting awake covered by cold sweat.

In fact, I awake slowly, which in itself comes as a shock. My eyelids still flutter open with difficulty, my eyes stinging as they painfully squint at the wall, covered in polaroids.

My room, I'm in my room.

I release a breath in relief, and grow suddenly aware that something is weighting on my chest. I glance over, and I am greeted by the sight of Victoria, wrapped around me, literally _nuzzling_ my neck. One of her arm is spreading over my torso, and my cheeks instinctively flush at the sensation.

I try to shake the embarrassment away – now is not the time.

But I still tilt my head, to take a better look at her face, and now I can't take my eyes off of it. She is cringing slightly, but she isn't making any movement or sound that would lead me to think she is having a bad dream. I imagine, with the hint of a smile, that the queen bee has a frown carved on her features even during her beauty sleep. I blink slowly, and I wonder if she was actually worrying about me when she fell asleep.

As I ponder the possibility, I realize that I don't remember getting into bed, to begin with. I notice that we are both fully clothed, and that she isn't, in fact, lying under the duvet with me, but above it instead. Did she carry me? Did she tuck me under the blanket before cuddling up to me? Did she really stay here out of genuine concern for me? I ask myself these questions, despite already knowing the answers. I know she did. Or at the very least, I know that she would. I know that she cares, deep down… but I never actually expected her to show it.

A warm feeling settles somewhere in my chest, a sensation that is both foreign and familiar. Both distant and very much present. I can't quite grasp it, but I don't want to.

That feeling, and that embrace… they feel just as wrong as they feel right. As if neither are meant to be, neither should. But they are both here, and they both fill me with hope. They both ease the pain, even if barely. My heart skips a bit as I understand.

That feeling, and that embrace…

They might feel improper, incorrect, out of place, ill-timed – but I will welcome them both.

Because they give me the strength to imagine a 'tomorrow'.


	2. Silent plea - Victoria

**A/N:** Hey! I had received a few requests to continue this, so... I began writing some drafts and ideas down and I think I can make this a multichapter fanfiction.

I will switch the point of view between Max and Victoria every chapter. So, an uneven number: Max. An even number: Victoria. I'll write the name in the chapter's title to make it easier!  
So as you probably got it by now, this chapter is told from Victoria's point of view. I hope you enjoy her side of things!

* * *

SILENT PLEA [VICTORIA]

* * *

A soft snore reaches my ears, in between relaxed breaths.

I tilt my head to the side, trying to get a better look at the face pressed against my chest, only to confirm my thoughts – Max has, indeed, fallen asleep.

I can still see the trail that her tears have left on her freckles, her disheveled hair sticking to her wet cheeks, and there's even a bit of snot falling off her nose. Which is totally gross. But she is asleep, and that alone is more important than her pathetic looks. And my cashmere. I can always buy another one.

I stop my hands in their movement – I had been stroking her back for a while now, and even though I finally put my muscles to rest, an odd sense of emptiness lingers in my palm. I push the thought back in the corner of my mind, as I definitely have more important things to focus on right now. Namely the hipster currently drooling on me. She doesn't seem to be waking up despite my hands becoming still, so I take this as a good sign she has fallen deep enough into her slumber.

I carefully pull the blanket off of her shoulders, before pushing her body further back, one of my arm still maintaining her somewhat close. I hesitantly, very hesitantly, slip my other arm under her knee, then the other. I readjust my own position, before finally lifting her body up. And, admittedly, I stumble back a little, struggling to find some balance. She might be extremely slim – worryingly so, I tell myself as I sneak a reprehensible glance at her legs – but a human body happens to weight more than I had anticipated.

I still succeed to settle her on the bed, and she twitches a little, but fortunately her eyes remain shut. Thank God she's a heavy sleeper. I bring the comforter back on her, making sure to cover her entire frame. I quickly rearrange her hair and – ugh – I even manage to grab some tissue to wipe off those tears and that disgraceful snot.

I internally scold myself every single step of the way, as I know, I _know_ I should not be doing this. Every cell in my body cringes at the unfamiliar attitude, they beg for me to get away, far away from that waif and just go back to pretending I don't care.

But I stare at her face – which looks slightly more presentable thanks to my administrations – and I am inevitably reminded of the sorrow that was painted all over it not even an hour ago. I only got to witness it for a brief moment, but… she was in so much pain. Her eyes were literally begging for help. What the hell was I supposed to do? Push her away and leave her there? Alone to deal with her grief? Fuck no. Actually, fuck every cell in my body. There is _no_ way I can leave her right now.

God knows I'll regret this.

But still, I finally take a sit on the bed, pondering my decision for a few more seconds before finally lying next to my nemesis.

It feels so _great_ , and I immediately scold myself at the thought – the feeling – no matter how expected it was. I shouldn't, I really shouldn't. I am not supposed to feel _great_ lying next to some loser, especially not after someone close to her died by my best friend's hands. Especially not after she broke down in tears in my arms.

My heart pounds heavily against my chest as soon as the memory fills my brain. Out of excitement or fear, who knows? I have made my decision regardless – I will stay with her. For tonight, that is. I wouldn't be able to sleep with the thought that she might wake up alone and in tears.

But now, she is snoring peacefully, and I can only hope that her dreams are gentler than the harsh reality we live in.

I cringe. That was way too cheesy. I need to stop this, whatever this is. But there's a sting of worry pinching my heart, and that is a feeling I cannot brush aside. That is a feeling I cannot bear to ignore. Not now.

Now, I need to be here.

* * *

A phone buzzes, the vibrations echoing in the room.

I frown at the unpleasant noise. I press my face further against my pillow, hoping to block the sound out. And the pillow… moves?

My eyes suddenly open wide.

Max. It's Max. I am in her room. Right. She was crying. I tried to calm her down. She fell asleep. And so did I, apparently. Against her body.

I gulp, feeling the pulsations of my heart resonating severely in my head. She is so close – more than close, as our bodies are tightly pressed together. I grow excruciatingly conscious of my leg, resting over both of hers, almost – definitely – possessively so.

And most importantly, she's awake.

A cold sensation ghosts over my arm, and I come to the realization that she had been tracing circles on it with her fingertips and only now stopped.

Oh shit.

She is warm, _too_ warm, her touch is burning my skin and I have to jolt away from the embrace. My brain sends alarming flares through my entire body. Away. I need to stay away.

I remain seated next to her, trying to regain some composure as she stares at me with a mixture of curiosity and shock in her eyes. And something tells me it's not because of my ridiculously tenacious bedhead that I desperately keep trying to tame.

"Oh- are you okay?"

She uses her elbows to sit up straight. The surprise on her facial features has now been replaced by what I recognize as concern. It isn't a face I'm used to seeing – well, sure, when she looks at Saint Kate Marsh, or that Alyssa chick maybe, but definitely not directed at _me_. And it makes me feel uneasy, because she isn't supposed to see me as a person she should worry about. She never has.

But then again, I was not supposed to baby-sit her yesterday, and yet here I am.

I simply nod as an answer, not quite willing to bother with words yet. It seems to be enough for her anyway, as she now stares at her lap, fiddling with the blanket nervously. I lower my hands, judging that my hair doesn't matter much anymore. Is she looking for something to say to fill the silence? Or does she actually know what she would want to say? I can't quite tell, but she remains quiet. The silence is becoming heavier by now and the awkwardness of the situation begins to weigh on my shoulders.

Would she be okay if I left now? She does look more emotionally stable. So it would be alright, wouldn't it?

"What time is it?" I finally ask while frowning at my thoughts.

She looks at her desk, on which her phone rests. I get up and reach for the device that I hand to her, of course not without exaggerating an annoyed sigh in the process.

She mutters a "thanks" before grabbing it.

"Oh, Kate messaged me."

This explains the buzz that woke me up. Be damned, Marsh.

"And it's almost nine." She continues.

"Nine already?" I feign surprise, mixed with a bit of annoyance certainly.

She glances up at me, her gaze diving straight into mine. There is a certain intensity in her eyes, but I can't, for the love of me, decrypt whatever she is thinking.

"Well, I should go now. I have things to do." I actually don't, but I'm sure I can come up with something.

She merely nods. Is she disappointed? She doesn't look disappointed. But she doesn't look relieved either. What the hell is she feeling? What is she thinking?

Ugh.

I turn towards the door, all my frustration condensed in my stride, ready to make my dramatic exit-

"Wait."

I startle at the sound of her voice, my dumb heart getting stupidly excited.

"I'll open the door. T-To make sure the coast is clear. So that no one sees you."

I stare at her obtusely while her words process in my head. Right. I shouldn't be seen leaving her room. Especially not in the morning while both wearing yesterday's clothes, _that_ would be difficult to explain.

"Alright." I hurriedly reply, forcing certain thoughts away from my mind as a flush creeps its way onto my cheeks.

She gets up as well, carefully. It infuriates me. She isn't slow enough to make me think she wants to extend her time in my presence, but she doesn't seem eager to get rid of me either. She is in that perfectly vague in-between that my brain cannot decipher.

She makes her way to the door nonetheless, perking her head outside while still hiding her body – and clothes – behind it.

"Wait, Dana is heading for the shower…" she pauses. "Alright, it's clear now."

She spreads the door wider, turning towards me.

I know I have to hurry, to make sure I can reach my room before anyone else leaves theirs.

But then I see it, I finally see it – that look in her eyes, that silent plea, wordlessly questioning my decision to leave.

And for a moment, I hesitate. I could close the door, and stay with her. But then what? Would she rant about her late friend? Would she break down, would she cry, would she ask why I could not stop Nathan? Would she blame me?

Or would she forgive me and reach for another embrace? I shiver. That scenario terrifies me most.

So all I am able to do is send her a pathetic, definitely unconvincing smile. And with that, I finally rush my way outside, opening the door to my own room before entering it.

It's probably best this way.

I am greeted by the familiar hollowness ghosting in my room. A certain emptiness clings to the walls, despite the luxurious furniture I had meticulously chosen to position against them. As if the perfection surrounding me would somehow leak into my being. It is comforting, perhaps in a twisted way.

But admittedly… I had tried to create a warmer environment, create a place that would be more welcoming, that would truly feel like a home. Without success. Despite sneaking multiple times into the hipster's trash of a room, which is, to my dismay, incredibly charming – the room, not the hipster, mind you.

I roll my eyes at my own idiocy. I shouldn't be thinking of her. Especially not that way.

I sit on my bed, the bed I should have slept in last night if not for that loud thud coming from her room. I was about to get into mine when I overheard it, but I don't know how long I stayed circling in front of her door instead, pondering whether or not I should intrude. The worry had overcome my reason the exact moment I could perceive the sound of her sobbing.

And even now, that same worry had followed me here. I know she isn't feeling well – how could she? That knowledge alone makes my heart a little heavier, a little harder to bear. A part of me wants to message her, tell her I am here should she need it again – should she need _me_ again… but that is foolish, isn't it?

I release a laugh, one that is too frozen in sarcasm to hold even a hint of joy.

No, of course not. She is emotionally fragile. She needs support, I just happened to be here, at the right moment. If her mind had been clear, she would have probably reached to someone else. Someone like Marsh. Or literally anyone else.

It shouldn't hurt. Should it?

It doesn't matter. It's all in my head anyway. Or ribcage. Or whatever.

Max is not my top priority right now – is what I tell myself as I fumble through my purse to retrieve my phone.

I swiftly unlock the device to see that exactly fifteen messages await me. Two of which are from Taylor, sending me support and deciding that she will pay me a visit sometime today. One is from Courtney, also sending her support. I shrug. It doesn't sound as genuine. Another is from Hayden who offers me a joint to relax after the crazy week.

The eleven messages remaining happen to have been sent by none other than Nathan Prescott.

I stare at the screen blankly. Wasn't he in custody? We weren't able to communicate after he got arrested. Does that mean he got out? While the curiosity gnaws at my insides, an uncomfortable sensation settles in my chest. My finger shakily tap on the screen, displaying the messages.

'Vic I'm sorry'

'I didn't mean to do this I didn't mean to hurt anyone'

'I told them I was guilty'

'they said i got eight years'

'they sendin me to some fuckin mental hospital prison fuckhole'

'for eight years vic EIGHT FUCKIN YEARS'

'what hve i done'

'i don't k now what to do'

'i wanto see u'

'iam so sorry'

'pleas forgive m e oneday'

The screen turns black. A little bit shocked, I realize I accidentally locked it.

My hands are shaking. They're shaking a lot and I want them to stop but they just _don't_. I feel tears threatening to escape. I blink a few times. It stings, and I unconsciously begin to chew my lower lip. I can't cry. I can't break.

I could have done something. Anything. I knew he was unstable. I knew he was getting worse. I should have known. I could have prevented it. If I had, he wouldn't be in this situation.

Eight years. What did I even expect? As if I knew. I want to see him just as much as I want to stay away, I want to comfort him as much as I want to beat him up. He is my best friend as much as he is a killer. How can I be mad at him? How can I forgive him?

My mind jumps to my, now former, teacher. Mark. Jefferson. Oh, fuck no. The thought of him makes me sick to my guts. I can't. I just can't picture him doing… _any_ of what he did. And Nathan _helped_. Fuck.

What kind of fucked up mess is this?

Enough. Enough lamenting, enough torturing myself over this. I close my eyes, my entire body shivering as I take a deep breathe. One loner tear streams down my cheek, but this doesn't count. I need to calm down. Relax. Breathe out. I can do this. Breathe in. I got this.

I'll deal with these matters some other day. I'll think of a solution later. But not now. Now I need to change my mind. I seriously consider Hayden's offer when a few knocks on my door snap me out of my thought process.

Fuck. I'm still in my suit. And I probably look like utter shit. I hurriedly rub my hand against my face, when I suddenly hear a familiar voice.

"Vic, you here? It's Taylor."

I pause. Would it be safe to let her in? She's always been a good friend, but… ugh, to hell with this. I jump to my feet, ignoring the light dizziness reaching my head. Another few knocks.

"Vi-"

I wrap my hand around the doorknob and yank it open, coming eye-to-eye with a surprised Taylor, her fist still in midair.

"Get in here." I say.

"Oh."

She rushes inside, turning towards me as I close the door. I have to resist the urge to sigh when I see her gaze running over my clothes, before setting on my face with a concerned look.

"So, what do you want?" I ask tentatively.

"You know damn well why I'm here." She's right – if her text from earlier is any indication.

She trots to the couch, claiming her sit on it before patting the space beside her. Any other day, I would have probably scolded her for her audacity, remind her firmly that _I_ was the queen bee. But instead, I finally release the sigh I had been holding before complying. For once, her assurance is appreciated.

I sit next to her as she rests her elbow on the back of the couch, her stare visibly trying to analyze me.

"So… how did it go?"

I try to look for words, which proves to more difficult than I had thought. She arches an eyebrow at me, urging me on.

"It was… what you would expect from a funeral. People crying. Mourning. Nothing too surprising here."

She nods slightly. "Did they, like… say anything to you?"

"No. They were too busy sobbing to care about my presence, obviously."

"Well", she drags out the syllabus, clearly attempting to ignore my sarcasm. "At least, like, now you don't have to worry about anyone thinking it's your fault."

"I wasn't worried!"

"Sure, you weren't." She smiles. "But you're still wearing the clothes. I mean, like, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah."

My voice is definitely not the most convincing.

"Are you still blaming yourself?"

Against the best of me, I advert my eyes, staring at the plasma screen in front of me. I shrug nonchalantly.

"Vic, please… you know you're not responsible for this."

"We've already talked about this enough."

She sighs, offering me a tired, exasperated look. A look of disbelief.

"Apparently not."

I shrug again. I know she expects a different reaction from me, a sudden change of heart, a confession of sort. I can see it in her eyes.

And I can see the concern, too. It's heavy, weighing on me, cracking my walls only a little. We are both thinking about the same thing, and we are both aware of it, but none of us would dare to mention it. As much as I wish she could forget, there is no way she could scrap the image out of her mind. That particular scenery – one of my weakest moments.

Monday. She had never seen me cry before that day. And I had never sought for comfort before that day either. And while she had proved to be a reassuring friend, successfully handling my panicked self, I still wish this had never occurred.

Because now she knows I am nowhere near as calm as I pretend to be. She knows how terrified I am of pointed fingers screaming "guilty", or how I really loathe the image of myself I so desperately try to project.

And now she expects a change. I can see it in her eyes, all those expectations I cannot meet. Not yet.

And I can see the exact second her hope subsides into disappointment, when she realizes insisting will only lead to a dead end.

"Do you have any news from Nathan?"

I nod, a bit uneasy, yet still glad she changed the subject, even slightly.

"He got out of custody", I explain. "Apparently he didn't even try to defend himself. He got sent to some prison with mental care."

"For how long?"

"Eight years." My voice suddenly sounds way too dry.

I can see a mixture of shock and pity swarming in her eyes.

"Damn…" she whispers.

I shrug. My shoulders feel sore.

"He could've got much more for what he did. Money helps, no doubt."

"That's still a fucking lot. Like, do they even allow visits?"

"No clue. Even if they did, I'm… not sure I can see him right now."

"I understand… even if you're like best buds, what he did… that's a hard thing to forgive."

Especially because we're best buds.

"Yeah…"

"I can't imagine what that Chloe chick's parents feel like… Losing their daughter like that…"

A knot forms in my throat as images of the funerals force their way into my mind.

"Her dad died years ago."

"Seriously?" she gasps.

"I saw her stepfather at the funerals. He's actually a security guard here."

"Wait, you mean Madsen? Like Mustache-dude?"

"Yeah, that one."

"Oh fuck…" she breathes out. "I heard he was the one who found her…"

I feel a sudden sting in my heart.

"Well… not really…"

"Right. Max was there."

I nod absentmindedly. She was there, at the scene. She saw it all, unfolding before her eyes, life fading away, only leaving a blood-stained cold body behind. A body that apparently belonged to someone she knew.

"Did you know that… Max knew her?"

"She did?"

"Well, uh… I overheard her talking to the mother. Apparently they were friends or something."

I'm not actually certain myself. They mentioned playing together as children, but does that even mean they're close?

"How is that possible? I never saw them together."

"Me neither…" I admit.

"Did you talk to Max?"

I rub my hand against my suit, just below my collarbone, desperately trying to soothe the peaks of pain pinching my heart. Each memory from yesterday oddly resonates through my chest, fills it with worries I really can't bother with at the moment.

"Just to tell her my condolences."

She frowns a little. I don't like it. I'm supposed to show a reasonable amount of remorse – just enough to be seen as a decent human, while still keeping my position as the Queen you can't mess around with.

Did I mess up by attending the funerals and being polite to the hipster? Was that a step too far for my image? And here I thought that Taylor, of all people, would be pleased to see me turn into a more sensitive being. Was I wrong? Fuck, did I allow myself to get too involved? What if people are talking already?

"But who cares about Caulfield right now?" Certainly not me, I assure myself, cringing at how bitter the words felt as they left my mouth.

She seems taken aback for a second. Shit, was that the wrong thing to say again? At least she isn't frowning anymore.

"Let's just… go out and try to change our mind, okay?"

She nods, seemingly convinced by my sudden spurt of wisdom.

"I'll go get Courtney while you change", she exclaims while getting to her feet and walking towards the door.

Without further needless exchange, I scuttle to my closet. I stare at the clothes hung before me, trying to think of an attire that wouldn't scream "I haven't been doing anything interesting with my life for the past week".

I finally choose a rather loose shirt with long sleeves. Its creamy beige color would go well with a certain jacket I haven't had the opportunity to wear yet. I could actually convince my minions to go shopping with me, grab a new scarf and maybe even a new pair of shoes. New clothes. What better way to say that I am still the Queen Bee than proving I have enough inner strength to move on and set my mind on fashion? _And_ all the while showing that I still own enough cash to treat myself with the best quality there could be. My own lips carve into a smirk as I fix my makeup.

I'm on top of it. Idiots may have opened their filthy mouths to spew some bullshit about me being too kind to losers, now their mouths will stay wide open when they realize how far ahead I am.

So it's full of assurance – and expensive clothes – that I finally step out of my room.

I am instantly greeted by the door opposed to mine. It's still closed, and it forces me to a pause, against my will. I can immediately feel my confidence wavering. I know she is probably still inside, and no reasonable thought can stop my mind from jumping to pointless questions. What is she doing? Did she go back to sleep? What if she's crying again?

Am I just running away?

I shake my head, try to shake these interrogations out, these concerns out, these _feelings_ out. They have no place to be. They don't belong within me.

And yet, they persist.

But as I step away from this door, from her, I can feel these interrogations, these concerns, these feelings, shaking _me_ to my core.

 _Just please, be alright._

* * *

 **A/N:** "Quick" note about Nathan's case... I am not a lawyer and my knowledge of criminal cases is very limited. I did my research before writing this chapter, and from what I understand, an arraignment takes place about 72 hours after an arrest, and sentence is given not long after (if the defendant pleads guilty, of course). This might be wrong, and I'm sorry if it is. ;u;

I hope you enjoyed it anyway! I'll try to improve as I go on with this fanfiction!


	3. A point - Max

.

* * *

A POINT [MAX]

* * *

I should take a walk.

My room feels too cold to stay in right now.

I really should take a walk.

I kept repeating it to myself, sometimes even aloud, until the thought eventually filled the words with meaning.

It had still taken a couple of hours, since the moment the door closed. A part of me, quiet yet very much present, had begged me to stay by it. Just in case. Just in case she might have changed her mind and come back. And as small as this part of me was, I still found myself at its mercy.

But I guess it would take more than just a night to change someone. Especially Victoria Chase.

So I had spent the past few hours trying to accept this. This sad reality. Amongst other sadder realities. I read Kate's text a couple more times, to assure myself it was real – but she has indeed invited me to her room for tea tomorrow, when she returns from her parents'. And that same annoying part of me is still eager for her to come back. Or wishing that Victoria would. I did think she would. But she didn't.

In the meantime, I had decided to _finally_ take a walk.

After having a shower (which took way too long) and picking some more colorful clothes (which never seems to take long) I find myself out of the dorms. Right into the October weather. A chill travels down my back, and I briefly regret not wearing anything warmer than my suddenly-way-too-light sweater.

But I know that if I dare to go back into my room, I'll never leave it again. So I press forward, and it isn't long before I stop. Where should I even go? My mind races to the lighthouse but my feet are stuck in place. I already went yesterday, which alone should be good enough of a reason. But most importantly… there is no way I can stand at that spot once again. Not when I feel so…

Not today.

I note that I had never gone this far, last week. This same week. The one I had erased. Today is Sunday and it is one day I had never lived, in any timeline. I find myself in the wild, in unknown lands. It's a day Chloe has never lived to see. The thought makes me uneasy, and my brain vehemently rejects it.

I need to snap out of it. Show must go on, as they say. Although I'm not quite sure it fits the situation, the point is there. It _is_ tough but… I have to stay strong. I don't have a choice.

I nod to myself, a bit more resolute now. I decide to simply wander through the campus. I haven't spent that much time here this week, as I had been busy either helping Joyce out or filling documents for the police. But I am a free bird now. I lazily walk towards the bench, on which I spot two squirrels munching on some food I can't recognize. My hand hesitantly twitches towards my bag to get my camera, which is when I notice two things.

One, I had taken _way_ too many pictures of squirrels that don't exist anymore and I am not that eager to repeat the experience.

Two, my hand hurts.

As equally annoying as both of these facts are, I pay mind to neither. I already know of the blue hue covering my hand. I had felt that same sharp pain in the shower earlier, and had taken notice of the dark shade of blue spreading on three of my knuckles. And while I was surprised the moment I saw it – and it had admittedly taken a while to remember that wall I punched yesterday night – I merely cringe now. I cringe, but I shrug. This is nothing.

"Hey Max!"

Holy shit!

I feel electricity run through my entire body as I jump away from the incredibly, incredibly loud voice.

"Warren! Fuck, you scared me!"

I raise my unharmed hand to my chest to emphasize on my point. His face contorts with remorse and I notice something _strange_ about it, which I would feel concerned about were it not for my heart going agonizingly crazy.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"Of course not", I mutter, trying to force a smile. "But please, for future reference, don't creep behind people like that."

"Dully noted! But again, I'm sorry. You're okay?"

I lower my hand, and it is then that I notice it. His face. There is no bruise. My head is spinning out of the blue. Warren. He fought with Nathan. No, wait, he didn't. Nathan got arrested. So they never fought. So Warren doesn't have a bruise. And I should know – I saw him just yesterday. How could I forget? I _really_ need to get a grip.

"Yeah, it's fine."

My words are as intelligible as a toddler with a fist in their mouth.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Just… a bit tired."

He doesn't seem convinced, but I suppose he understands that I am not in the mood for deep confessions about my state of mind.

"I- err…" he awkwardly grabs his neck, very obviously avoiding my eyes. "I wanted to know if you wanted to, like, hang out for a bit… I mean… I know this week has been tough on you…"

No, you really don't, Warren.

"But I just thought that maybe I could help you change your mind... We could watch a movie together. I'd let you pick! And promise I won't question your choice!"

I, undeniably, hesitate. Merely lying around, watching a movie, without a care for the outside world – it is a _very_ enticing concept, I must admit. And while I know that Warren is an awesome movie-bud, thanks to his hilarious comments, the clumsy yet hopeful smile stuck on his face does nothing but feed my worries. Chloe's voice rings through my skull. _That guy is so fucking in love with you_.

"I'm sorry, but… I don't really feel like it right now. I'd rather be alone."

That is a lie. He doesn't notice, and quite obviously believes in it, but I know that it is a painful lie nonetheless.

"I see... and I understand. That's fine." His tone says otherwise.

"I can give you your flash drive back if you want." I try to force another smile.

"Nah, it's fine. You can keep it for another couple of days."

"Thank you, Warren. Really."

"Ah, never mind. You can text me if you change your mind. It's not like I have anything to do."

"Alright. Thanks."

He nods, before his arms fall to his side and he slowly, very slowly begins to walk away.

And I feel sorry. I really do, especially when I can clearly see the hurt in his eyes. I know he doesn't deserve this. But I also know he would literally take a beating for me, he would give more than I can ever give back. More than I can receive. All full of hopes that are bound to be shattered. It wouldn't be fair to lead him on, even though I would really need someone to hang out with. Someone who doesn't have expectations I cannot meet. Someone whose presence doesn't cover me with an extra layer of guilt.

Someone who is obviously not there.

And I find myself alone. Again. I sigh, exasperated. I turn to look at the squirrels – only to notice the bench is now empty. I wave at the emptiness, with my left hand of course, whispering a good bye that no one would hear.

I take a deep breath before pressuring onwards. Forward, I need to go forward.

I keep strolling around, trying to force my mind to focus on the world around me rather than the world I left behind. Camera in hand, I see a lot of wonderful photo opportunities – the auburn tree leaves swirling in the air gracefully, or the impressive shadow cast by one giant tree, or the sunlight reflecting on the Tobanga at the perfect angle… these are photos I know I would be proud of.

But these are photos I don't take.

There is this heavy, heavy feeling weighting on me. I find myself shaking under the pressure, and as much as I want to click the shutter, I cannot find the strength within me to do it. A low, deep growl roars at the far back of my mind, defying my will to capture the moment unfolding before my eyes. And I succumb to it, lowering my camera each time, feeling a strange sense of relief whenever I do, because I know _I don't have to_.

But the fear quickly kicks the relief out. What will happen to me if I can't take pictures? Surely, there is nothing wrong with taking a break, but something in my gut tells me it is more than that. How can I be a photographer if I can't take photographs? I knew the road to be tough when I started, I knew I had to stand out with some sort of talent. I'm studying at Blackwell, for this purpose. Because I don't have any other purpose, do I? There is nothing else I can do, there is nothing else I _want_ to do.

I feel sick. The past makes me sick, the future makes me sick, and the present is one I can't bear to live in.

And most of all, the thought of Jefferson unpleasantly twists my insides. As satisfying as it is to know he isn't running free anymore, I still can't forget how insane he was. That bastard… he betrayed so many people, reduced them to nothing even for a moment, left them to suffer the consequences, all for the sake of his own artistic pleasure… How far is an artist allow to go under the pretext of creativity? Will our new teacher also be a perverse psycho?

The replacement teacher. She will be taking care of the photography lessons starting next week. Tomorrow. A woman whose name I barely know and which I didn't bother typing on Google. She could be an amazing teacher for all I know, but it will never be the same. I can never admire her, or anyone else, the same way I admired Jefferson. He was my idol, and he was… he did… all… this…

How can I believe in art again?

I stare down at my camera, still lodged in the palm of my hands. Head hung low, my full attention on the device that has been my faithful companion for years, I try to find answers, somewhere within its eye lens.

Is there anything left worth capturing?

I glance up, my gaze focusing on the world around me. It is a lot darker, the sun hiding behind the trees and depriving Arcadia Bay of its light and warmth for the night. I don't know for how long I have been wandering aimlessly, but it must be fairly late by now.

Today is one day I had never lived, in any timeline. Yet this one day feels dull rather than new. It is bland and monotonous. I look around me, but I see nothing. Nothing that I want to remember, not a future memory I would want to cherish. This instant, this moment… is worthless.

I feel the wind playfully whirling around me, toying with my hair, a gentle pull, maybe a poke. A careful reminder that I am alive. It fills my lungs, fuels my body. All of a sudden, I grow abruptly aware of just how _cold_ it is. Heading back sounds tempting, as there is no point staying here. And I wish I could find it, this point, a reason to walk, something worth remembering. Would I really find it in my room?

The doubt is enough to convince me otherwise, and I make my way to the school cafeteria. I figure I should probably get something to eat - my stomach has been empty all day.

It is unexpectedly crowded when I open the door. Well, six people, which is still more than I would have bet.

Brooke is sitting by the window, a can of soda in one her hand. Her eyes are glued to her phone, one earphone stuck in her ear.

Evan is sitting across from her, scribbling in a notebook. His face looks extremely intense, and I briefly wonder if I missed an imminent exam date, but my focus is soon caught by the ruckus at the center of the room.

Four students have claimed an entire eight-seat table for themselves, full to bursting plastic bags scattered all over the four remaining chairs, as well as the floor and the table itself.

And amongst these teenagers, I see a certain short blonde-haired head. My heart inevitably skips a beat, which I ignore to glance at her clothes as if I actually needed further confirmation that it is, indeed, Victoria. Along with the rest of her clique – I see Taylor, Courtney and… is this the girl that tried to refuse me the entrance to the VIP section? It feels like this party happened ages ago – when, technically, it never happened in this timeline, as it had been cancelled. I guess the girl was never scolded in this dimension, and retained her position in the Vortex Club.

I have no clue what they are talking about, but I hear their cackles echoing through the room, Victoria's voice strangely standing out to me. She waves her wrist dramatically in the air, as she carries on with a tale I will probably never know about.

Her back is facing me, and none of her minions have noticed my presence yet. Leaving the room without a single word is a possibility that, I admit, crosses my mind. It would be the most logical thing to do, as I sincerely do not want to risk having any slander thrown my way. But my body presses forward, urging to step anywhere within Victoria's field of view. I want her to know I am here. I want to see her face, see her reaction. Would she say anything? If so, I want to hear it.

I push my legs forward, purposefully walking near Victoria's side. I sneak a glance at the content of their bags, noticing various colors of fabric sticking out. Clothes. Did they go shopping? Is this why she seems so lively?

I continue my way to the counter, the group of obnoxiously loud teenagers now behind me. Has she noticed me?

"Miss? What will you have?"

I startle suddenly, only now becoming aware of the man behind the stand, looking at me expectantly.

"Oh, um, sorry."

Crap. Crap! I really should have thought about what I wanted sooner. Huh. Huh, what do I want? The fuck do I know? I pinch my stomach, silently asking for an answer, but it seems oddly unresponsive. Dammit. I thought the walk to the cafeteria and the prospect of food would set my appetite alight, but… clearly, not.

Ugh. Stop looking at me like that. I know I look weird and suspicious. Screw it. My body temperature will choose for me.

"I'll have a… hot chocolate, please."

I figured it would be a weird thing to order when the sun is down and dinner draws near, but the look he gives me is still unexpectedly priceless. Huh… priceless… I'd… better refrain from using that word.

"It'll be $1, please."

I fumble through my satchel, then through my purse, until I finally find the proper coin to hand over. It was a challenging mission, but I managed. I grab my well-deserved chocolate before turning to find a seat so-

Victoria is looking at me.

Her eyes are fixated on me.

My feet seemingly stutter and it is a miracle I am still standing on the two of them. My cup isn't so lucky though, as it rolls on the floor, disgracefully splattering my beverage all over it. I freeze for a second, or ten, my brain taking its sweet time processing the incident. And then it finally did.

No.

No, fuck, why do I have to be such a klutz? I can hear them snickering, their chortles painfully scratching at my ears. I just made a fool out of myself. I keep my eyes on the floor, contemplating my stupidity, too embarrassed to look up.

"Will you want another?"

I turn to the man, who is now standing beside me, a handful of paper towels in between in fingers.

"Um, no, huh… I'll take care of this though… sorry about the mess."

He shakes his head, handing me the tissues. I kneel on the floor, eager to make it sparkle and finally leave the hell out of here. My eyes forcefully stuck on the task at hand, I tap, I scrub, I rub. I cringe at the pain in my right hand, and I am surprised to see how dark and swollen it has gotten. So surprised that I don't even notice the liquid sipping through the paper and reaching my digits.

"Fuck!" I yelp at the hot, very hot chocolate.

More sniggers. Amongst which, one I most certainly recognize.

My gaze finally darts up, meets her own almost instantly. She is scrutinizing me, a smile surely concealed behind her hand. Of course she would be laughing with them. Of course she would openly mock me. I expected the sight of her, so triumphant, so prideful, to make me boil with rage. But to my dull surprise, there is no sign of fury within me. I do not see red, do not feel a scream sweltering at the back of my throat, do not revel in the fantasy of my hand on her cheek. None of that.

I just feel… so alone.

And I'd rather be angry than lonely. I never knew loneliness before. Before Chloe was back into my life. Before I had to let go. Now I only have her memory to cling onto. Nothing else. No one else. I wish I could rip the loneliness out of me. Rip it off, twist it around, throw it on the floor, step on it a couple of times and burn it to pieces. There's the anger, not the one I should hold against Victoria, but the one aimed at myself and my own helplessness.

There she is, contemptuously grinning at me, her posture reeking of condescendence. There she is, maliciously regarding my humiliation, not moving an inch as she does. There she is.

But where is the Victoria that held me tightly in her arms, tenderly pressed her lips against my forehead, cradled me to sleep and snuggled up to me as if I were her own little treasure to protect?

Where is that Victoria?

Because I need her right now.

I feel the tears threatening to flow, and I can't have this. I can't allow them to see any more of this cruel show. I can't stand anywhere near them, near her, not when she's… not when she's being this heartless and callous person. Not when I know how sweet she can be but is not.

My body urges me to leave, leave _now_ – who cares about the mess I've caused? I feel a tinge of guilt at leaving the man to clean it in my stead, but the culpability doesn't keep me from rushing towards the exit. I've had enough.

I feel a wave of relief wash over me once I finally step outside, before the autumnal weather wraps my body into its icy grip. I shiver, pressing my sweater further against my skin, desperate to find some warmth.

As I run to the dormitories, I try to ignore the ache in my heart, try to pretend that my hands aren't shaking in pain, that my eyes aren't stinging. It hurts. I shake my head. It still hurts. It hurts even more when I realize that I haven't found it. I haven't found a point, a reason to walk. A reason to be here.

As much as the concept of solitude tears my inside apart, I find myself craving the protection of my room, far away from the pitiless mockeries. I rush, faster, eager, until I eventually reach it, my heaven. Somewhere safe, far from the harshness of life. Somewhere that reeks of death, or at least the painful memories of it.

I find bittersweet solace in the comfort of my blanket, draped around my shoulders, covering my entire frame and shielding me from the outside world.

But while its warmth sets my quivering body at ease, the loneliness still lingers. I bring the comforter closer to myself, but it can never replace the warmness of two arms around me, of a body tightly pressed against my own.

I try to convince myself that my blanket is enough.

But I inevitably wish someone would just open the door.

* * *

 **A/N** : This... wasn't supposed to turn like this. My hand slipped. Oopsie.

There will be happier moments, really. I've planned a bunch of fluffy-ish scenes, but there will certainly be a lot of emotional struggle in the midst of it all.

Also, I decided (for reasons) that Blackwell has a wonderful cafeteria that opens on Sunday and provides very cheap hot chocolate. (Which I'm sure would taste delicious were it not all over the floor.)

I hope you enjoyed! c:


	4. At stake - Victoria

**A/N:** A huge thanks to genesiswings who allowed me to use their work as a cover for this story! Thanks again! :D

* * *

AT STAKE [VICTORIA]

* * *

The path to school seems unusually short today, a sheer contrast to any other Monday morning.

'I don't want to go' I tell myself, and a second later I am faced with the door to the main school building. I stride in, a handful of confidence lacking in my steps. Courtney, walking by my side, doesn't seem to notice, her gaze stuck on the screen of her phone. I frown a little as I keep heading to class – she is curiously silent, which I find both fortunate and suspicious.

We finally arrive in the classroom, a certain discomfort weighting in my chest as I take my seat next to Courtney. I immediately glance around and feel my insides churn. I haven't seen Max yet. Worse than that, I can't quite decide how that fact makes me feel. A light sensation, similar to relief, tingles my back whereas a heavy feeling presses on my shoulders. Is it disappointment? It makes no sense.

I want to check my schedule again, confirm that we really are on Monday and we do have World History class, which Max is supposed to attend – but I fight the urge. As unperceptive as Courtney can be, there is only so much that could go unnoticed.

I see Kate walk through the door. Her eyes, full of hope, scan the room, before ending on the floor with a sigh. So she was looking for Caulfield, too? Clearly, she hoped Max would be here. And she is not.

And damn, as contradictory as my emotions are, they still persist, obstinately. Time passes by, slower than ever now, and I swear I can feel my insides swirling and swaying, desperately reaching for two extremes that cannot meet. Saying it feels awful would be mild.

Then the bell rings. And I feel sick.

The teacher enters soon after, immediately taking attendance. As expected, no little hipster voice rises to answer to 'Max Caulfield'. As if. What was I thinking?

"Well, that's not really a surprise, is it?" I hear beside me.

I raise my hand when I hear my name before I turn to look at Courtney, who sends me a devious, knowing smile.

"She's probably still mourning over that hot chocolate."

She grins at me, and it takes all my will not to cringe. She stares at me, expectantly, waiting for some sort of approval. My hands are shaking.

"I would too, if I had to choose between hot chocolate and a sense of fashion."

How am I even capable of allowing these words to slip so flawlessly through my lips? I even flash a smile, all the while retaining myself from barfing on the spot.

Courtney sniggers nonetheless, evidently pleased with my repartee. But her laugh turns out to be a punishment more than a reward. A painful slap on the back rather than a congratulating pat. It feels wrong, so wrong. Max may dress poorly but she doesn't deserve this. She really _is_ mourning.

"Are you sure you don't want me to upload that video?"

My breath runs short, as if her words had hit me square in the chest. The video, I just remembered. She had recorded everything. My skin begins to itch with irritation, as I know I'm the only one to blame for this behavior. Had I not recorded and uploaded a video of Kate at the last party, Courtney would have never had that idea. Except this time, it's different. This time isn't about the embodiment of chastity lusting over a couple of boys. This time, it's a girl tearing up over a spilled drink after she just lost her friend. It's not interesting. It's just… gloomy. And heartbreaking.

But of course, success doesn't rhyme with compassion. It is a lesson I flaunt around with pride, and she has faultlessly taken note. What an idiot I am.

"Courtney", I articulate sternly. "I told you to delete it."

"I know, I know, but…"

She is interrupted by the teacher calling her name, which she replies to with a 'here'.

"But why?" She continues. "I mean, like, why Kate and not Max?"

Isn't it obvious? I feel my heart shrink at her question, ashamed and cornered. Obvious, yes, it is. I clutch at my stomach, ordering the damn butterfliesto just _fucking stop_. I gulp. I need to stay composed. Breathe.

"Exactly because of Kate. It's… enough."

"You didn't find it fun?"

The disappointment in her voice sends a shiver down my spine. It stings where her hopes couldn't reach. It bruises a part of me that is as perceptible as air to her. So why do I bend to fit what she can see, rather than imposing my own vision?

"Is it because of the funerals?" She urges on.

My neck almost snaps as I turn to glare at her. I feel a 'yes' burn my throat, I taste it in my mouth, but it never reaches past my lips. Too dangerous. Definitely not with Courtney. Taylor, perhaps. Not Courtney. I can't predict how she would react. She might see my… _compassion_ as weakness, and there is no assurance that she wouldn't turn her back on me if she sees no more reason to suck up to me.

No. Definitely a no.

"Don't be ridiculous."

The gears in my head turn so fast I can almost hear a strident din piercing my skull. The finally teacher starts her lesson, but her voice is muffled by my thoughts. Find something, fast.

"We already pulled the viral video antic. Once is funny. Twice is boring. We can't have people think we lack creativity, can we?"

"Okay, if you say so, I trust you."

"Then delete that video", I command.

"Alright, Victoria."

She waits until the teacher turns her back to slide her phone out of her pocket and tap on her screen until the video is permanently gone. I almost release a relieved sigh when she suddenly glances at me, her eyes shining with her need for recognition. I lean back on my seat, try to adapt to a more comfortable position as I shift my focus on the lesson. Not that World History is a particularly difficult course, but I wouldn't dare to risk my grades, and certainly not because of that hipster.

I hear Courtney chat with Hayden behind us, and I occasionally throw a remark or two into their conversation – enough to let them acknowledge my presence. I conceal my concerns behind the poker face I spent years mastering, I truly have no reason to be thinking about Max. No reason. _None_.

I grab my bag as the bell echoes loudly through the school. I step outside the room, not muttering a single 'bye' to Courtney.

I shortly arrive in my Media lab class, where I can hear a few hippies discussing in the back corner of the room. Without further due, I walk to my seat. I feel heavy, incredibly so, as each step proves itself to be more difficult than the previous one. I finally reach my table, letting my fingers graze the wood carefully, as if the touch alone would aggravate the pain in my chest.

It is Nathan's seat. It is where his pencils and sheets usually are, scattered all around the surface with no care for my own space. I knew that scolding him never changed his attitude, so at some point I had begun to steal his furniture. He never noticed. And now I have an entire drawer full of pens, pencils, rulers, erasers, highlighters… these were all unimportant tools. Until I realized I would never sit next to him, at this table. Now they are mementos, reminders of days that were gone too fast.

Maybe he _did_ notice, actually. Maybe he let me.

I hurriedly push all of these thoughts, all of these memories aside, so I can finally sit down. Shortly after, I see Taylor walking in the classroom, waving at me as she makes her way to the table behind mine.

"You okay, Vic?" she whispers while sitting down.

I turn around, repositioning my body in an angle that allows me to at least see her face. I rest one foot on the chair beside me, grinning at my friend. But it wavers.

"Of course. How was Algebra?"

I see one of her eyebrow lift up, ever-so-slightly, carefully suspicious. Then it lowers again, as she finally considers my definitely-not-dodging question.

"It was _so_ boring, I thought I was gonna rot."

She stretches with a whine, and I tap her arm reassuringly.

"Ugh, tell me about it."

Her mouth opens, but quickly shuts as Jayson trots to the seat next to hers.

"Hey ladies, what's up?"

"Taxes." I reply austerely.

He seems taken aback by my gibe, to which I shrug. I don't like this guy. He thinks he's hot shit since Hayden let him into the Vortex Club, and that transpires into his quasi-incessant blabbering. How can Taylor bear a lab partner like him? Even his voice is a personal assault to my ears.

"Very funny", he mumbles. "Did you get the news about Nate?"

How fucking dares he?

"Of course, what the hell do you think? I'm his _best friend_." This statement burns my throat. "And it's 'Nathan' for you."

"What are you gonna do though?" Taylor intervenes, seemingly not up to witness an argument. "I mean, for the project."

I grit my teeth, gulping strenuously in hopes of releasing the tension in my jaw.

"I talked to Ms. Dawson", I announce while trying to maintain perfect control over my voice – just the right pitch.

"Oh, what did she say?" Jayson inquired.

"She suggested I pair up with another duo to help them. I convinced her to let me work on my own, though."

"Are you sure? Wouldn't it be too hard?"

My friend sounds concerned, unsurprisingly. Taylor has been nothing but a dotting mother since Monday. I shrug, before adorning a confident grin.

"I'll be fine, we were almost done anyway."

But that's a lie. We were midway through our project, at best. Working as a team is difficult when your partner is easily subject to panic and you spend your study sessions trying to reassure him. I lost count of how many hours I spent cradling him while my coffee grew cold by a blank sheet.

Everything I have done, I have done by myself. Confined in my room, with just the right amount of caffeine in my blood. If not too much.

So, even with him being in jail, it shouldn't be much different, should it? I literally go from 'working alone' to, well, 'working alone'. And yet, while objectively, I _know_ the amount of work has not increased, I still feel as if what used to be a slightly inclined hill had been suddenly cut into a cliff. A cliff I am left to climb on my own.

Ms. Dawson enters the classroom, as agitated as ever, papers already in hand. I shift on my chair, turning my back to my classmates so I can face her – I know she never takes attendance, never does, always jumping straight into the lesson. A lesson I surprisingly find difficult to grasp this time.

The speed at which she jabbers mauls my brain. I can begin to feel my skull throbbing, which only increases my frustration – I am one of the best student in this damned shithole, I should be able to understand this. I should know about the proper ways to interpret audience statistics, or how to superimpose multiple factors and elements to make sense of those numbers. I _should_ know, for fuck's sake, it's what I've been doing when Nathan wasn't drowning me under a few dozens of alarming text messages.

Yet, her words violently pierces through my head, crawling at every nerve as they slide out, never succeeding in getting a firm grip that would allow them to stay. I try to remember the content of my assignment so far, but the only thing present in my mind is the distant echo of words refusing to be drown.

 _You should know this._

 _What are you, an idiot?_

 _You will never be that good._

 _You suck._

"Victoria, you can call me later if you need help with your project."

I startle at the sound of Taylor's voice, whispering frantically behind my back. I sneak a glance at her, see the corner of her lips perk up. Do I really need her help? Is that the only way I can hold on? My hand almost twitches, but closes into a fist instead. Concealed by the table, I know for certain that no one would notice, yet I still spread my fingers apart as soon as I grow conscious of my nails digging into my palm.

I shrug at her, before returning my attention to the class. Or at least, I try. I claw at the cliff the same way these numbers claw at my brain. Hopelessly. And in the same manner, I slide off, I slip, and fall.

Hours pass by, along with words that never linger.

I defiantly avoid the cafeteria at lunch, reminiscent of memories too fresh for me to bury. I hear gossips, jibes, and other trivialities I can't bother to partake in. Both in and out of the classrooms, I try to concentrate on my objective – achieve that perfect GPA. It doesn't matter how chaotic this week has been, I will never succeed if I let outside elements affect my grades.

And still, I am incapable of preventing my mind from wandering off to matters that are strategically unimportant.

It seems that a superior force has taken control of my body, forcing me to glance right, left, maybe behind me. I stare past my friends, past everyone else, expecting to see a face covered in freckles. And that same superior force teases my heart whenever I spot some washed-out hoodie, or messy brown locks of hair. Only to feel my guts drop when I realize that it wasn't who I hoped to see.

I find her in the corner of my mind, but never in the corner of my eyes.

And it infuriates me – both of these facts, actually, infuriate me to no extent. It shouldn't be so difficult for me to sweep her off my thoughts, and she definitely isn't supposed to be anywhere but within my sight. Not in this school. I rule this school, I should be aware of everything that is going on in here – and that includes her position.

I swear to God, where the hell is she?

As time goes by, with no hipster in sight, irritation begins to prickle at my skin, and I'm positive that my frown is now permanent. I take my tooth off my lower lip, realizing I had been chewing it for who knows how long. I eventually have to head back to class, one I don't share with the hipster. And yet, my mind drifts back to her, helplessly. I want to shout. I have no idea where that desire stems from, but I'm having a surprisingly hard time controlling it. That's it, I'm going crazy. I've lost control.

Where the fuck is she?

I groan, absentmindedly listening to my pen tapping against the desk. At this point, I think I've given up on trying to appear calm. I can see Taylor and Courtney eyeing me nervously. If anyone asks, I'll just find something. Like, 'I'm _so_ nervous about the new teacher' or something. 'I've looked her up and I _really_ don't think she can handle our class'. 'Mr. Jefferson was _much_ more interesting, what a shame.'

I glance at my watch. Ten minutes. Ten minutes until the ring bells and I have to make my way to the photography classroom.

I try to focus on the class again, threaten myself with the goal I have set and need to reach. But my worries have grown, big, way too big, there is no way I can toss it aside somewhere in my mind. It is there, very much present, and very much annoying the hell out of me – fuck that, if she doesn't show up in the Photography class, I'll destroy the door to her room. And smack a bitch or two on the way. Maybe set fire to the dorms, just to make sure she'll attend classes. Wait, no, if she has no where to live, she'll probably fly back to Seattle. Heh, I can always buy a house in the area and host her. Wait, no. No. What the fuck? There is no way that I could – even if I – or maybe – that would never – fuck.

Ugh. I would _never_ have to consider all of these crazy possibilities if the damn loser would _fucking show up to classes, for fuck's sake._

I look at the time again. Four minutes. Max Caulfield, you have four minutes to move your skinny ass to class. For the sake of the dorms. Three now. I begin to gather my furniture – not that I have written anything during this class. I'll ask Courtney for her notes later.

One last minute.

I jump on my feet the exact millisecond the sound of the bell reaches my ears. Taylor runs after me, the strap of her bag hanging loosely off her shoulder.

"Vic? What's the hurry?"

"New teacher – looked her up – not so good – ugh." I barely even feel the words leaving my mouth.

"Uh… okay..."

I reach for the doorknob, only to notice the door is locked.

"Fuck!" I mutter.

I lean back against the wall, crossing my arms firmly against my chest. I feel the adrenaline decrease, and I am only now able to process the concern look Taylor is giving me – but she doesn't say anything, which I am grateful for.

My body shivers, and I rub my hands against my arms to pass it off as the corridor being too cold – even though my cashmere sweater is definitely warm enough. I shift my weight from one leg to the other, forcing my body to remain somewhat motionless as to not worry my friend any more.

And finally, I see a woman walk to the doors, inserting her keys in it to spread it open. I am first to walk into the room. I hear a "Hello, students" that I carefully nod to, before grabbing a chair to sit down at my usual place, Taylor by my side.

I squint at the teacher for a moment. Chestnut hair, brown eyes, she looks rather young – twenty-six according to my research. She fumbles through a stack of paper, muttering something to herself in the mean time.

Now, Caulfield. Now is the moment you are supposed to stumble in like the nerd you always are. Leave the dorms before I burn it down.

My feelings keep stretching my heart apart, torn between the 'want' and the 'shouldn't'. Between 'I want to see her' and 'what if I actually do see her'. How would I even react? After spending _hours_ waiting to see her, what would happen if she does step in?

But then she does.

She does.

With her washed-out sweater, washed-out jeans, washed-out scarf. With her messy hair, her little nose, and her freckles. She actually came. She is here, in this room, and the sight of her lightens my entire body, almost makes me believe I am floating in alleviation. But then I see the way she carefully steps to her seat, the way her eyes remain stuck on the floor, the way she actively avoids my gaze.

I gulp, uneasy. I should have known – in truth, I had expected as much.

"Alright, class." The teacher speaks up. "I am Stacy Schauer, I have been a photographer for the past six years and as you know, I will now assure your lessons in the stead of your previous teacher."

A few mutters arise in the classroom, which I block out.

The teacher goes on with the course – she proceeds to explain the world of photography, which universities to apply to once we graduate from Blackwell, how important it is to socialize in the art world… She addresses more information that I already know of, and, eventually, I block the sound of her voice as well.

I glance to the side, and I see Max, at the corner of my eye. She seems distracted – as always. But there is something more to her inattention… I squint at her, as I try to take in her facial expression, the way she sighs, or how her shoulders have slumped… Then I notice the bags under her eyes, the emptiness in those, the absence of color on her cheek. I realize how petite she is, how fragile she looks. As if a ball of paper could shatter her apart, as if she had no longer the strength to pick up the pieces.

She looks… almost lifeless.

And I cringe at the realization. I have been so unfair to her, in a moment of weakness, when I could have helped instead, I could have changed it all – could have saved her from the embarrassment, shielded her from the mockeries, alleviated the burden she carries alone. I could have. Now, the damage is done, and I have to dig deep within myself to find the strength to prevent myself from holding her. If she can't pick up the pieces, then I would.

If I could.

And I can't.

Too risky. Too dangerous. Too much at stake – my reputation, my friends, her friends, my self-control. My feelings.

She lifts her head up, her eyes locking with mine. And the world stops as I grow aware of each nanosecond passing when my heart drops, low, low enough that my breath runs short, that my stomach churns, that my knees shiver and the floor swallows my feet.

I can see the exact second her empty eyes are filled with questions, incomprehension swirling in her blue pupils, and I am forced to look away. I can't stand her gaze. I can't stand her presence at all, as much as I want it, _exactly_ because I want it. Too much at stake.

I pretend not to feel her stare and I pretend she cannot feel mine. And during the rest of the course, I pretend our eyes only met on accident, only a few dozen times.

The lesson eventually draws to an end, as the teacher slams her binder carelessly against her desk.

"Okay, there are only about five minutes left, and before you go, I'd like to give you an assignment."

A few sighs and groans, but my ears perk up.

"It seems to me that the last subject you have studied was chiaroscuro. I would like all of you to take one picture following this technique. I have taken a look into your previous assignments, but I would like to get acquainted with your work myself."

She claps her hand excitedly, offering a smile that seemed way to quivery to be sincere.

Chiaroscuro. I have always enjoyed toying with lights and shadows, using the contrast to emphasize on the subject exactly the way I want. Although this assignment should not be too difficult, I am not acquainted with this teacher. I should not rest until I can guarantee that A+.

"I will give you two weeks, and will not accept any delay."

I shift my gaze to my rival, my nemesis, the one person I know who could surpass my work without even trying. I expect her to look as distant as always, to release a sigh as she tries to shrink away from the extra work.

But she actually looks… really pale. Completely out-of-it. Something is obviously wrong. Could it be the assignment? She has never cared much about these, but she really looks bothered.

Her face turns to Kate Marsh, and they exchange a smile. Why? That is when I look underneath their table. Marsh's hand rests above Max's, both on her knee. Of course. I knew she would turn to the religious freak. They are friends, after all.

I feel sick, as parasitic thoughts invade my brain and I am defenseless. She is receiving support, a support she probably would not want from me again, but one I long to provide nonetheless.

So I ask Taylor not to wait for me, as I run to where the last incident took place – to the cafeteria.

I order, before I rush off. I almost fall on my way, but I smile as I manage to maintain my balance. I accelerate the pacing of my steps, panting heavily, each breath I take freezing my lungs. My legs hurt as I climb the stairs, but I finally reach the door facing my room. I press a hand to it, hesitantly. But there is no time to hesitate. I have made my decision, and time is against me. Everything is against me. All that is at stake repeats in my head like a broken record, reminding me of the risks I have resolved myself to take.

The risk I am willing to take, for her sake.

I step inside her room, in a haste. And I depart shortly after, my hands empty, and leaving the sweet aroma of hot chocolate behind.

* * *

 **A/N:** There will be a few original characters here and there (mostly teachers, but also a few students of the Vortex Club). They won't become important, don't worry, they're mostly here to fill the space and hopefully a more realistic feeling to the story.

Note that I don't know much about the American school system or the subjects studied at Blackwell so I'm mostly imagining here. Sorry.

(AlsoVictoriaiscrushingreallyhardjustsayin')


	5. Lukewarm - Max

.

* * *

LUKEWARM [MAX]

* * *

I shift in my bed, turning to my other side, for what seems to be the twentieth time during these last five minutes.

Twenty first time now.

I toss my blanket aside in frustration, groaning as I sit up. Each of my articulations whine, the sound of bones creaking reaches my ears and I bite my lip. All of my limbs feel so, so heavy – my arms, my legs, my head, and my damn _eyelids_. They all seem to sink below than the ground.

And still, sleep refuses to welcome me in its embrace.

My thoughts keep swirling in my brain, pounding against my skull. I felt cold, dropped into a deserted island with the rain pouring from above and not a sign of hope in sight.

I reach for the blanket, but my hand stops midway. The blanket won't help. It isn't what I need. I curse under my breath the exact moment my thoughts drift to her, who is probably in her room right now.

I glance at my phone, pressing a finger to it. 4:56.

Why, just _why_? I don't understand it myself, but the realization that she is most definitely in her own bed, sleeping soundly, while I'm stuck here struggling to keep my mind off of her – it feels… _unfair_. She can't just be so sweet and then so cruel and still have a clean conscience, can she? _What if she can?_

I press my left fist against my forehead, closing my eyes trying to even my breathing.

"It will be okay..." I murmur.

My entire body shudders, so I finally grasp the comforter and pull it around my shoulder, not bothering to actually lay down.

"I will be fine..."

* * *

I throw my head back, looking at the ceiling as I release a heavy sigh. Stretching all of my limbs, I grow aware of how _uncomfortable_ this chair is, the wood torturing my back and behind.

I have been sitting here for an hour and a half, listening to Ms. Schauer speak about the art industry and… mostly ranting about her own personal experiences. It was interesting at first, and it would have probably continued to be, were if not for my wobbly attention span. Fortunately, it is all over now.

Victoria is the first to leave, too fast for Taylor to follow. She looked in a hurry, as if she couldn't have borne to linger in this room for even a second longer. Is she… avoiding me?

I _know_ it is unlikely. Victoria is too prideful to run away from anyone, and certainly not me. But the haste in her steps as she distanced herself from me made me feel as if she had dropped a handful of ice cubes down my spine.

A warm hand softly wraps around my arm, and I look at my right to see Kate. She tilts her head at me, her eyebrows nearly covering her eyes.

"Hey Max… are you alright?"

"Ah… yeah, I'm sorry. We should probably go."

She nods, before we stuff our notes – rather blank in my case – into our respective bags and depart from the classroom.

"I'm glad the day is finally over…" she murmurs as we walk through the school yard.

I don't allow myself to vocally agree, so I nod, silent. My day had started five hours later than hers, as my body had decided to favour rest over lessons this morning. I can't complain when I really just slept in while she sat in class.

My mind briefly drifts off to the horrendous night I had spent, shifting left and right in my bed, blanket on and off, sitting and laying. I feel a crippling guilt twist my inside as Chloe resurge in my mind. This is so wrong. I shake my head, but my built-up frustration remains, words unspoken swirling obstinately in my mind.

The bus comes to a halt in front of us, pulling me out of my reverie, and we step inside. I hurriedly sit next to a window, and Kate smiles down at me as she takes the seat next to mine. The doors close, and the vehicle roars as it drives forward, jerking slightly at the uneven road.

"So, do you feel inspired for the new assignment?" Kate asks.

"No, not really."

She raises an eyebrow, which I guess questions the evasive and cold tone my reply had taken.

"I mean, it's… always been this way." I sputter. "I never really plan on what I'll do for assignments."

I see her face ease into a smile. My chest heaves in relief.

"It's true that you've always been rather… spontaneous, when taking pictures." Her gaze wanders off for a few seconds, staring at the nothingness, before she looks back at me. "It's a nice trait to have."

"O-oh… is it?"

"I think so. It makes your art more… genuine. I can see why people say you… I mean- I think that's what people like about your photographs."

I hum quietly, looking out of the window as my mind wanders off.

Taking photographs had always been ingrained in my routine. It was an intuitive, nearly instinctive habit. It was my own way of defying the world around me, of affirming my own existence in this universe. Against the fatality of time, I could turn glances into stares, frame the ephemeral for eternity. Fleeting moments are grains of sand seeping through our fingers, but I had the power to capture them, to remember them. I could grasp them firmly within my hands, for me to look back any time I please.

Little pieces of time.

Was this the reason why I got the time powers? Were they an extension of my need to get a grip of the world around me? Is this… why I lost interest in photography right as I lost my powers?

My eyes lock on Kate as she fidgets. She taps on her lap with the tips of her fingers, to a quick and rushed beat. I can sense her malaise, and I want to say something, but fail terribly. No word appears in my mind, and no sound seeps past my lips.

* * *

The bus eventually stops at our destination. We hurriedly step out of the vehicle, and walk our way to the tea saloon.

This is all there is to it. A mediocre tea saloon, as one could deduce by its unoriginal name. 'Tea Saloon'. How mainstream. The place is rather old, desert most of the time. There is a very peculiar scent floating in the air – different tea aromas mixed with something I cannot recognize. But I like the sense of mystery.

We step at the counter, behind which a woman stands.

"Oh, you two! Long time no see." She says, her cheeks wrinkling as her smile broadens.

"Yes, it's been a while. Things got… a bit busy lately." Kate gently replies, while I do nothing but awkwardly scratch my neck.

"So I've heard… What would you like today?"

"I'll have a… cardamom cinnamon tea, please."

"A ginger peach tea – green, the tea I mean, green tea. Ginger peach. Green tea." I sputter lamely, but the woman nods nonetheless, obviously trying to conceal her amusement.

"Separately?"

I shake my head. "I'm inviting her."

"What? No, you can't!" Kate exclaimed as if I had confessed to a deadly sin or something.

"Watch me."

I pull out a ten dollars bill out of my pocket, before presenting it over to the woman. I wince slightly as my hand painfully reminds me of the bruise covering it. I quickly glance at Kate who doesn't seem to have noticed, and I sigh in relief.

"Alright, your orders will be there right away. You can go take a seat." The lady says after handing me the change.

"Thanks."

We sit at our usual round table, right beneath the middle window. It oscillates as always, so I instinctively stabilize it by pressing a foot on the pedestal. The chair creaks under my weight and I smile. I haven't heard that sound in a while. It has definitely been more than a month since we've last been here – well, minus one week for her.

I've grown to appreciate this place ever since it became a ritual for Kate and I to reunite here and enjoy our time together. It is a crack in time and space, where we both feel safe, away from the outside world and painful slurs.

It takes only a few more seconds for the woman to set our teas in front of us. We both mutter a second "thanks" before she takes off to stand behind the counter, as always. I'm always grateful that she gives us our personal space, rather than bother with social chitchat to fill the solitude.

Kate sighs heavily as she absent-mindlessly stirs her tea.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

Her eyes dart up to meet mine before she shakes her head with a tiny smile.

"I was just wondering if tea would make a good subject." She replies. "For the assignment, I mean."

"Are you _that_ desperate?" I lightly giggle.

"Don't laugh! I really have no clue…"

I dip the tip of my finger into my tea, nodding to myself before taking a cautious sip. It tastes extremely sweet, and warm. I can't help my thoughts from quickly jumping back to that cup of hot chocolate I had wasted. But I shan't be thinking of Victoria.

"I've never been fond of chiaroscuro..." She trails off. "Don't get me wrong, I think it really has the power to make a photo so much more intense. I love Bill Henson's work… Or Garry Winogrand's… but it doesn't really suit _me_."

I set my tea cup back on the table, staring at it as I ponder slightly.

"Most of their works express a lot of pain and suffering, I just… wish I could find a way to make it more cheerful."

"I think you could use tea cups..." I finally reply. "Right here." I point at the table. "You could use some light through the window, directed at the cups. It'd need a lot of touch-ups but… you could do that."

I glance up at her, only to see her staring at me in surprise. She blinks a few times, setting her gaze in between us.

"And you said you weren't inspired..."

"Well, you were the one who gave the idea…"

"But if you don't know what else to do, you could do this."

I hesitate for a brief second, but an odd feeling of discomfort sets in. I don't want to take this picture, but I don't know _what_ picture I would want to take.

"Nah, you do it. Anything I can do to help."

I can't let my worries burden her. Not when she has been through so much already.

"Besides, I don't think Ms. Schauer would be too hard on us for our first assignment."

She nods slightly, fiddling with her cup.

"You're right… and she doesn't seem too strict."

Her shoulders slump down lightly as she releases a small relieved breath.

"Yes, so it should be alright. Don't worry."

Her lips extend into a smile, which I reciprocate until I see it waver. She looks down immediately, rubbing a hand against her forehead to conceal her face away from me.

I lower my head as well. I know how easy it to compare our new teacher to our previous one – naturally, the thoughts intrude our mind. Not as strict, not as charming, not as eloquent, not as talented. We all know she will never live up to him. Kate, more than anyone else, would be excruciatingly aware of it.

And it is with a sting in my heart that I realize just how similar our situations are – were.

She fell to his hands, ones she admired, and no one knew. Stained with memories no one believed, she had to conceal her pain, silently, boiling in a rage no one else could comprehend. I saw the tears, I saw the pain, I saw the anger – and never did I think that I could, one day, relate to them.  
Never did I think that one day, I would carry the same burden, with the full knowledge that no one would ever believe me. Not even her.

But never did I think I would be so grateful for the choice that I had made.

Finally, they all believe her. They are all forced to acknowledge the truth. At least now, she isn't forced to silence any more.

"It'll be okay..."

It is only a whisper, barely even a sound, and I know she couldn't hear.

Looking up, I reach for her hand, grabbing it gently within mine. I lower both of our hands to the table, revealing her face and the surprise on it. I smile to her as reassuringly as I possibly can. I refuse to leave her feeling lonely, ever again. Never again will she think of stepping on this roof, I swear to myself.

I see the corners of her lips perk up slightly.

I feel a wave of pride swirling in my chest. She might not be the sweet, innocent and cheerful friend that I once had – and she will probably never be again – but I can see she is so much stronger than she used to be. So far from the despair she has once felt.

"Thank you..." she whispers.

I smile at her, running my thumb against the back of her hand one last time, before pulling away.

"What happened to your hand?"

My eyes widen, my face probably stuck in that 'deer caught in headlights' expression. I quickly glance down at my hand before hurriedly hiding it under the table.

"It's- um- it's nothing."

"It certainly doesn't look like nothing!"

I brush my fingers against my knuckles nervously, naively hoping it would make the bruises fade away more quickly. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't.

"Max." She continues, her voice a lot more stern now. "I know you haven't been feeling well lately. I don't want to inquire but… I'm your friend. You can talk to me."

I meet her gaze, but quickly avert my eyes, biting my lower lip as I silently scold myself for worrying her.

"I know… I know, but.. I don't think talking would help, I guess. Just being here with you and chilling around is enough."

Which isn't a lie, or at least only partially so. Moments like these are as close as I can get to being free from the burden of the past, the one that pulls me deep into the ground, anchors my limbs and pressures my lungs. Moments like these feel brighter, lighter, as if I could float in them, weightless and feathery.

I cannot bring my troubles on the table. None of us would benefit from these moments if they became loaded with anxiety.

"Mmh… If you say so… If it helps, you can always come to me to relax and talk about… anything. But please, do take care of yourself."

"Thank you… for understanding."

I take another sip of tea, which she mirrors in silence.

Unsure what to speak of, I decide to discuss the assignment some more. I throw some random ideas and thoughts, about the possible angles she could use, or the effects that would deepen the contrast between light and shadows. She seems oddly distant as we speak, but I can see a faint glitter sparkling in her eyes, growing brighter and brighter as the conversation goes on, and the sight of it fills me with a warm feeling of accomplishment.

We finish our tea shortly after, sending our goodbyes to the lady as we exit the saloon. The way back to Blackwell is quiet, almost eerie. We both gaze outside the bus's stained window, wordlessly admiring the sky as the sun illuminates it with a pretty tangerine color. I can feel the air growing colder on my skin as we walk to the dormitories.

She thanks me for helping her out and promises to see me tomorrow before darting into her room.

I walk towards mine, opening the door with a heavy sigh – when an unexpected aroma reaches my nostrils.

Is this…

I close my eyes, earnestly sniffing the air around me as I focus on the scent, and the scent alone. It smells familiar, very much so...

 _Chocolate?_

I close the door behind me as my eyes flutter open and inspect through the room. It only takes a few seconds before they lock onto a foreign plastic cup sitting on my desk. I approach it, somewhat cautiously, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

 _What the._

My guess was right. Chocolate. There is a cup of chocolate in my desk and I know for certain that I didn't buy any. I look around me, mildly afraid that someone would jump out of the shadows to scare me off – but nothing of the sort happens. I am, as far as I can tell, alone. With a cup of chocolate that seemingly popped out of nowhere. This explanation is certainly more comforting than the realization that someone sneaked into my room. Nothing else seems to have changed, so it's unlikely that the culprit took anything – if they did, they probably wouldn't leave anything behind, and certainly not hot chocolate.

But why hot chocolate? Why would anyone -

And then it dawns on me.

Victoria.

I feel cold sweat stick to my back as my brain pushes through my denial to make sense of it all. Whoever left that chocolate here had to be a witness to the incident in the cafeteria. And they must have felt bad enough that they'd actually buy me a refill. I don't think Evan would be able to sneak into the girls' dorms during the day without been noticed. Neither would the waiter. Brooke hasn't been giving me a lot of crap recently, but I know she still holds some resentment towards me, so it's unlikely. Courtney and that Sarah girl clearly despise me, and while Taylor is an overall nice person, she has no reason to go through that hassle for me.

But Victoria… Victoria would have a reason to feel guilty. If she cares enough to tuck me under the blanket and snuggle up to me, then she _probably_ cares enough to buy hot chocolate.

I wrap my hand around the cup, frowning as I notice how lukewarm it is. It has probably grown cold, which means it was brought there a while ago already. I freeze on the spot when I suddenly remember. Victoria _did_ seem in a hurry when the last class ended. She didn't even wait for Taylor – she probably didn't want anyone to know.

Wowser.

It really _is_ Victoria. It can only be her. It all adds up.

I gulp nervously as I bring the cup closer to my lips with a shaking hand. I poke the liquid with my tongue, and wince when I confirm that, indeed, it's cold. Very cold, even. I feel something stir within me as I slowly realize that – holy cow – Victoria actually ran to the cafeteria to buy it. And she may have even ran to my room to leave it there without being seen.

Without further hesitation, I welcome the icy drink into my mouth. I feel it run down my throat and swirl into my stomach.

I want to cry. I want to cry, not because it – honestly – tastes awful, but because of the fierce burning sensation prickling my heart. I can almost feel it painfully stretch, beating within my chest vigorously as if it were begging for attention. But it feels so… so warm. The heat spreads through each of my limb, defying the coolness of the beverage touching my lips, and I feel a sudden increase of energy pulsing through my veins.

It aches so much, but feels so nice, and it is so unbelievably wrong, but I am so powerless.

I want to cry. But I bite my tongue, cold tongue. And I blink, once, twice, ten times. My eyes sting, but ultimately obey. I drop the cup in my trash bin, my frustration rising as I feel a pinch in my chest.

It's just a plastic cup.

* * *

The alarm this morning had felt like a personal attack to my ears, diving into them and resonating straight into my brain. Which was much unwelcome after barely four hours of sleep.

But I had awaken nonetheless, with an unfamiliar burst of strength. My eyes hadn't quite follow, struggling to remain open as my body seemingly acted on its own, pushing me into the shower and dressing itself up.

And now I stand outside the photography classroom, fidgeting nervously.

I can hear Victoria's voice, in between comments from Taylor, which I couldn't care less about. Victoria was in this room, and Victoria bought hot – cooled – chocolate for me, and Victoria probably cares about me, somehow, in a way. An odd, peculiar way. But she cares, and I feel like a wobbling straw-man that someone had set on fire.

"Hi Max. Are you okay?" A voice behind me speaks.

I turn around, startled, suddenly faced with a mildly-concerned Kate.

"O-Oh." I gulp. "Yes, no problem. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

She glances behind me curiously, into the room. Before she can ask any question, I hurriedly step inside, my eyes automatically darting to the table right to mine.

And I meet her brown, warm gaze. I can see her eyebrows lifting up ever-so-lightly, almost in slow motion. The interaction barely lasts a second before she looks away, before she looks _down_. My own eyes widen abruptly. It feels so foreign, seeing the almighty Victoria Chase, looking _down_ to avoid eye contact.

What a sheer contrast with her bitchy attitude at the cafeteria – and it does nothing but confirm. It really _was_ Victoria who sneaked into my room. _It was Victoria_.

I clumsily stroll to my desk, pressing my lips together to prevent a smile from appearing. The bell rings right away, Ms. Schauer entering the room as it echoes through the room.

I have rarely ever felt so disinterested from a lesson before. I try to focus on the paper below my pen, but my eyes seem to look up on their own, lingering on Victoria's figure for longer than they ever need to. Each time a little longer, each time making it a little harder for me to breathe.

But each time, I see her serious-looking face, stuck on the teacher with a frown. I hear her sighing as well, as if exasperated, and that alone seems louder than the lesson.

And I glance, stare, gaze, waiting for a sign, a change – an ultimate confirmation that I am not imagining it all, that the popular and seemingly out-of-reach Victoria Chase actually _cares_. A proof that her indifference does not actually reflect the way she feels.

The second bell alleviates a weight from my shoulder, but I barely have any time to recollect myself that Victoria darts off, only turning to wave at Taylor.

They seemingly disappear during lunch, and I only encounter the Queen Bee again in the science lab – which winds up being nearly identical to our photography class. It strikes me as odd, seeing as how it is never uncommon for our eyes to meet during any lesson. I feel disgusted with the disappointment crushing my ridiculous hopes. This is so wrong.

Why is she putting her utmost efforts into ignoring my entire existence?

Despite not publicly mocking me, I can't help but notice the similarities with her aloof attitude in the cafeteria. Each time I believe we are getting closer, she distances herself beyond my reach. She drowns me in gentle warmth before giving me the cold shoulder. Back and forth, back and forth, not quite able to settle anywhere. No in-between, no lukewarm. She makes me feel like a cat trying to grasp that shining yarn, but it always slips away from my paws.

* * *

Until, finally, I have her cornered.

It is unexpected, unprepared, and I find myself as startled as she is.

I was climbing the stairs to the dormitories after my last class, when I abruptly came face to face with her, barely avoiding the impact. She froze, and so did I, my lips slightly parting.

A few long seconds of intense staring later, she tries to walk around me, but I instinctively step in front of her, blocking her path. She tries again, with the same result.

"I am not in a mood for a dance, Caulfield."

I recognize that voice, that tone, one that fancies iciness and vehemence but only ends up empty and weak.

"Victoria..." I plead.

She looks down, again. I take a step closer to her, looking up to meet her gaze, to no avail. She glances right, and left, and up, and any where my eyes can't be found.

"Victoria." I repeat.

I tentatively raise my hand, drawing it closer to her arm. I am completely unsure of what I am doing, my heart insanely beating in my chest, dulling my senses and turning my thoughts into nothingness. My fingers hesitantly wrap around her wrist, and I feel her tense under my touch, but my eyes finally meets hers.

Caring, gentle, warm, and so far from that attitude she pulls in front of the rest of the world.

At last, I lean in, resting my forehead below her collarbone, closing my eyes to take in the sensation. Our bodies aren't touching, beside my face pressing against her cashmere sweater, or her arm slowly sliding up to take a firm hold of my hand. I try to resist the desperate urge to push my body against her, to let my hopeless self take over and succumb to her warmth.

My eyes sting again, threatening to taint my cheeks with liquid salt. I take a deep breath instead, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume, which inexplicably feels so familiar and intimate. I smile as I feel the strong and regular beating of her heart. The muscles in my body naturally relax, finding sheer serenity at once.

"Thank you..."

She softly and wordlessly squeeze my hand, while her breath runs through my hair in a sigh. I can tell, without even glancing up, that her eyelids are closed too. The nervousness in her body progressively dissipates as the tension in her shoulders loosens up. Her chest heaves in a peaceful rhythm, the fabric of her sweater caressing my temples.

It is all so… delicate.

 _Creak_.

Chatters intrude in the staircase, and Victoria pulls away from me in the blink of an eye. She brings her – now free – hand to her mouth, failing hard at concealing the crimson shade her cheeks had taken.

And a second later, she is gone, her footsteps resonating further and further away from me. The shining yarn rolled away, but I let it be.

The sharp pounding of her heart still echoes in my ears, pulsing as fast as mine.

If not more so.

* * *

 **A/N:** I am deeply sorry about the wait.

The main reason (beside holidays) is that... this fanfiction has somewhat become a big project. There are many side-plots, scenes and themes that I am accustomed with, at all. So it takes a bit of time to try and not mess it up completely.  
If you haven't noticed already... school takes a big part in this story. Since I try to make it somewhat realistic, I think it just makes sense that subjects like homework or teachers would come up. Honestly, I'm scared that this school-thing would become boring, so I'm trying to tie it with the plot, but if anyone has any tip on how to balance it correctly... please, feel free to comment.

(Also, yay, I finally made Max say "wowser". I've been wanting to do that ever since I started writing Chasefield.)


	6. Erosion - Victoria

**A/N** : I have no words to apologize for the late update. 8 months. I'm ashamed. I can't promise that next updates will be faster, but I will try.  
I still hope you all enjoy this chapter. :)  
(Also, slight reminder that I have no clue how schools in the US work so I'm winging it.)

* * *

EROSION [VICTORIA]

* * *

And that easily, I dread tomorrow.

I dread tomorrow more than I did yesterday.

There is this puddle of excitement and apprehension pooling in my stomach, a cold mixture that sends shivers down my spine.

My fingers drum against my coffee cup following a random beat. I've emptied its content a while ago, unlike my peers. Despite us casually sitting at the cafeteria, my shoulders feel tense under the afternoon sunlight – I know it isn't long till the peach hues are replaced with the dark shade of the night, but I cannot seem to relax, despite the very active conversation filling up the space around me.

I hear sneers and loud exclamations, some whining, a few surprising sounds, hums of approval. I hum as well, forcing my voice to engrave itself in the conversation, to mark my presence. Courtney is making her usual obnoxious gestures (which I have long since given up on correcting, I swear, this girl doesn't know proper etiquette), while Taylor's voice reaches the roof and floor in sync with her eyebrows. I feel my presence drift away, with each fluttering of my eyelashes.

I messed up. I messed up so badly.

I should have never let her do this, I should have never let her _touch_ me, not the way she did – or any way, for that matters. I should have rejected her, I should have thrown some cynical comment about her dumb face, I should have shown some consternation, some revulsion, some animosity, some "how dare you touch me with your dirty hands".

No, _fuck_. I should have _been_ repulsed. There shouldn't be any need to fake my disgust, I should feel it, it should be there, somewhere – it should have been an instinct, it should have been a natural response. But it wasn't. I yielded. Miserably.

And we share all of our classes on Wednesday. All, of, them. Tomorrow.

I messed up. She probably knows the hot chocolate was from me. Shit. I messed up. I messed up so badly.

So pathetic.

"Vic, is everything okay?"

My head jerks up to face Taylor's. The sneers have faded. Her eyebrows are obscuring the blue of her eyes, giving them a stern, dim look.

"I'm fine." I blurt out.

"You know you can talk to us, right?" Courtney chimes in.

I maintain my gaze with Taylor for a few more seconds before turning to Courtney.

"I know. But there is nothing to say."

But I also know neither of them are stupid enough to be fooled that easily.

"We mean it, Vic. There's no reason for you to be so secretive. Just talk to-"

"Taylor, stop."

I feel my jaw clenching tightly around my words, but I manage to twitch it into a smile.

"I am fine." I articulate, careful not to leave room for any objection.

I see Courtney's mouth open and close, soundlessly. I can still feel Taylor's eyes on me, I silently glare a 'back off' at her, and she eventually rolls her eyes.

"Courtney, there's an assignment I need you to do."

She stares at me with wide eyes for a second. Just a second too long.

"What? Do you have an objection?" I bark.

"N-No, Victoria. What assignment do you need?"

"Algebra." I reply all the while staring at my empty cup. I wish I could take a sip, it would be a nice addition to the nonchalant attitude.

"Do you mean… the one we've got for Friday?"

I hum, eyeing her defiantly. I see her blinking away her confusion, before she nods a bit too vigorously.

"I'm on it."

I display a smirk, although it is aimed towards myself more than her.

This is way better. This, I'm more familiar with. Giving orders, being obeyed. Confident, assured, assertive. No doubt, no second-guessing, no hesitation. No mercy. No weakness.

And still, I wake up the next morning with dread.

There is dread when I carefully prepare my outfit, there is dread when I change into it, there is dread when I spray my perfume on it, there is dread when I put on my makeup, there is dread when I step out of my room, there is dread while I sit in World History class for the second time this week.

And then, there is _dread_ when she finally steps through the door.

There is this pool of excitement and anticipation again, swirling more fervently as she turns her head towards me. I hold my breath when her eyes meet mine, only for a second, before I drown as she walks past me, _way too close_ to me.

I release a heavy sigh when her chair slides against the floor, followed by the tiny sound of her sitting down.

The clock ticks at a different pace.

My focus is blurred, the teacher's voice reach my ears, but it transforms into a muffle mess of incomprehensible gibberish. My hands shake and scribble some barely legible words - fuck this, I'll ask Courtney for her notes. I set my pen down on the table, already exhausted. I feel an odd twitch above my eyebrows, and my hands just, keep, shaking.

But despite it all, I still risk a glance. Bashfully, way too bashfully, my eyes flicker to my side, timidly scouring for brown shaggy hair - and I meet blue instead. Her blue eyes, looking right at me in surprise. They're bright, so bright they burn, and I'm forced to look away, my cheeks boiling under her gaze.

So lame. And weak. And pathetic.

I feel a nudge on my side, where I see Taylor looking at me with furrowed eyebrows.

"What is wrong with you?" she whispers.

"Shup up the fuck up."

I groan and force myself back into scrawling notes I know I won't comprehend when I'll review them.

I lean back on the wall outside of the cafeteria, waiting for Taylor to come back with my salad. And whatever she gets for herself.

I feel my phone buzzing, and I retrieve it from my pocket. A message, from Courtney. 'working on your assignment 3' it reads. I stuff my phone right back to where it was.

Taylor finally emerges through the door, holding a plastic bag up.

"Did you get the sugar free coke?"

"Yep."

"With the straw?"

"Yes, Victoria." She drawls with annoyance.

I frown at her before walking off, leaving her to carry our lunch. I can hear her sigh behind me, but her footsteps follow nonetheless.

We leave the school building, strolling towards one of the table sitting under the light blue sky. The cold hair brushes against my neck and face, but I insist on enjoying the sun's warmth for as long as fall will permit it.

"Ew." Taylor exclaims.

"What?"

"Look."

I follow her gaze, which leads me to the sight of a dead pigeon, only a few feet away from us. Its feathers are scattered all around its repugnant corpse, immobile and out of place, frozen under the October sun. Fortunately, there is no blood in sight, but the vision is sordid nonetheless.

"Disgusting." I reply. "Let's go to the other one."

We approach the second table. Two miserable teens are gathered there, their chatter coming to a halt, as I do. Their hideous faces look up at me, and I frown down at them.

"Move."

"But we-"

"Move."

I wave my hand dismissively, and after an extra second, they are nowhere to be found. Taylor sits in front of me, handing the salad over.

I tuck the straw in between my lips, my can of coke in one hand and a fork in the other. Silence settles in between us, but I don't bother finding the means to break it. I let my fork simply comb through the lettuce in hopes of finding another tomato. I always eat them first, for some reason. I shrug to myself, dismissing my feelings altogether.

But, of course, Max would be there too. Not just in my mind, no, but physically. Sharing the entirety of our classes today wouldn't be enough, she just _has_ to pop into my view. Of fucking course.

That skinny nerdy waif is alongside her as they parade through the yard. Graham was his name, wasn't it? He sat next to her in Algebra earlier too. Science course, flawless GPA, has skipped two years… He's just a naive kid. The look on his face is absolutely sickening – so full of hopes and cheerfulness. He'd fit well into kindergarten.

And yet, Max is still smiling shyly at his excessive body language. A nagging thought whispers "she deserves better" in the back of my mind, and I scowl. I don't have enough time to scold myself that she suddenly comes to a stop, a surprised look on her face.

And I startle as it strikes me. She doesn't look surprised. She looks utterly _horrified_.

Glancing at her feet, I notice the corpse of that bird, tilting my head full of questions.

Ruefulness deforms her facial features, fear forcing its way into her eyes, her hand slapped against the lower half of her face to muffle a painful whimper.

And I watch.

I observe, as the Graham stammers in distress, shaking her by the shoulder before she sends his hand flying away. I try to decipher her movements, to understand, because she really _is_ staring at this cadaver, but how can anyone be so distressed by the sight of a dead pigeon? It doesn't make sense.

"Gosh, she's really a mess."

I turn my head towards Taylor, whose gaze is fixed on Max.

"S-She is." I respond. Did I really fucking stutter?

Her eyes now squint at me, as she shakes her head in disapproval. Or perhaps amusement.

" _Maybe_ you should go talk to her."

I froze, clenching my fork, fighting an awkward and unwanted smile off my lips.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh, I'm the one being ridiculous?" She snickers. "Girl, take a look at yourself. You've got sauce on your cheek, and that's like the first time I see something on your face that isn't makeup."

I immediately look around for paper towels, but she shoves a bunch of them into my hands before I could even spot them. I hurriedly rub one against my face, using that opportunity to conceal a stubborn blush.

Glancing ahead, I find Max again. Fingers run through her hair, gripping it, pulling it, as if trying to extirpate herself from reality. I can almost see the sweat dripping off her forehead, but Taylor nudges me out of my reverie.

"Go to her."

I scoff, my eyes still locked on Max's frame.

I sigh. "I can't."

"Why not?" She asks. Not because she thinks I don't any reason not to, but because there are too many to choose from.

I simply shrug, mindlessly biting into my lower lip. Max looks so… terrorized. As terrorized as she was _that_ night, except a bunch of people are staring directly at her, whispering between themselves, pointing fingers, laughing, frowning, shrugging.

And I'm among those who shrug.

As those who turn their heads away, filled with an absence of concern for their classmate, carelessly dwelling into their daily lives. I shrug, as they do, except the ghost of worry still lingers in my mind, possesses my skull and forces me to watch. To watch as she suffers and I sit.

"You suck at social interactions." Taylor throws at me.

"Shut it."

"No, but for real. You _can't_ open your mouth and talk to someone if it satisfies you. But doing the exact opposite of what you want – that, _that_ you can do perfectly."

"Just shut up."

"Vic, I'm just concerned about you."

I wiggle my tongue inside my mouth to push a whine down my throat, where it belongs.

"I'm not dumb. And I'm not blind." She insists.

I can hear her sigh, one of her hand grabbing my shoulder in an oddly tender grip.

"I see you," she whispered with a breaking voice, "trying to find every bullshit reason on Earth not to let go. And I don't think it's right."

Her hand slides behind my back, pressing against it ever so slightly, gently pressing me forward without quite doing so. Ahead of me, I can see Max shifting uncomfortably, erratic hands flying into the air, landing in her hair, on her face, around her body, back and forth as she visibly tries to phrase her distress to her 'friend'. From this distance, I cannot hear more than unintelligible words, but the guy seems at a loss. What could be done? What could _I_ do?

Even if I were to rise on my feet and work them her way, what could I possibly tell her, that wouldn't fuel her distress any further?

I feel this dread again, dawning on me, pulling my organs down with it. A few feet away from me, I can see her, as I can feel this thick palpable tension. A tension that has been creeping on us ever since the moment we fell asleep to each other's comfort - Or has it been longer?

Taylor pats my shoulder blades a few times before getting up. A few mere seconds later, the bells echo across the courtyard, as Graham starts to drag Max away and towards the school building despite her shaking body. I know I'll see her again within the same amount of minutes it takes for me to access the classroom, and yet, I divert my eyes from them, absent-mindedly staring at my unfinished salad instead. It stings less than the sight of _him_ riding the white horse, insignificant yet more tangible than I could ever be in this moment.

And I carry my dread back to the classroom.

Ms. Schauer pinches the bridge of her nose as she watches over us with wrinkled skin on her forehead. She isn't the only one having a bad day.

The class fusses around, bodies going left and right at will, exchanging whispers and not-so-whispers-anymore. Some head towards the darkroom, others occupy the computers… and a clever minority – which I am undeniably part of – has been faking activity by toying with their own camera settings or portfolio. For the past thirty minutes, no less, knowing full well that our teacher is far too busy dealing with her migraine to bother with us anyway.

Surprisingly, Max is sitting behind a keyboard, hand on the mouse, puffed eyes on the screen, chapped lips pressed together in thought. It was a rare sight to behold, as the hipster was usually found under the red light of a darkroom, carefully holding humid photographs as if her life depended on them.

But there she was, clicking away, poking at the contrast and saturation while her head seemed ready to fall flat on her desk. To her left, Kate adorned a similar posture, every now and then asking her friend some, 'are you okay?', 'do you need anything?'.

I sneak a glance at Max again, knots building in my stomach and into my throat, making it harder to breathe.

 _Vic, I'm just concerned about you._

This tension, this same tension, chasing us and unyielding. Has it always been this heavy, this persistent? How long – how long have I been feeling this way? How long have I been battling these emotions, beating them up and down and forcing them in? And for how much longer?

 _I'm not dumb. And I'm not blind._

I can feel that this fight is already over, already lost, I have nothing left to give.

With a stride that lacks far too much confidence, I approached the two of them, careful not to turn my head in search of eyes that may or may not be looking at me. I do my best at blending with the crowd, like a tree in a forest – except, in this case, a bright birch tree standing among poorly-groomed bushes. I have never been fantastic at blending in.

I tap a finger on the desk facing Kate, composing my best intimidating stance, indifferent pout on my face. I quickly tilt my head, silently ordering her to be gone. I can see her lips shake with hesitation, until Max herself whispers a quiet "it's okay, Kate". A few seconds left of reluctance pass by before the girl finally decides to save her work on the computer and take her leave, not without sending a concerned stare in the direction of Max.

I shamelessly sit in Kate's place, instinctively plugging my flash-drive into the computer as I bite my lip again. I can hear Max's unsettled breathing, firm reminder of the silent contact I am initiating.

But I can't. I don't want to. There has to be a way, another way, to deal with this, to appease these emotions. _This_ , this isn't safe. Falling into her hands like some torn butterfly. This isn't right.

 _I see you trying to find every bullshit reason on Earth not to let go._

Bullshit.

 _And I don't think it's right._

Warm and sticky threads glued to me like sweat, pulling me forward, towards, closer, enticingly so. Beyond the prime desire to hold and be held, to pull and embrace and protect – there is this deep fantasy of leaving my self, my own self behind, the one self and shell that curved itself under the pressure throughout the years. There is this intense craving for a liberation, from this skin, this shield, this cage. The eagerness to touch freedom and bliss, to grace it with my fingers, to curl up with its warmth and let it send my old self ashore.

I glance to my right carefully, meeting Max's eyes and looking away all within a split second. Enough to see her left hand over her mouth, chewing the sleeve nervously. I only then notice her knee moving up and down at a fast and faster pace. Am I making her this nervous? Or is she still stressed because of that bird? Kate is staring at me from the other side of the room, but I will my brain to pay her no mind.

"I, uh… I saw you… earlier, I mean." I sputter to Max.

She rolls her head back, taking a deep breath in the process. I can't tell if she is relieved or annoyed by my voice, and the uncertainty gnaws at my brains.

"I'm…"

The sound gets stuck in my throat, which I uneasily scratch, my nerves making my skin overwhelmingly itchy.

I turn to her nonetheless, unsurprised to see her staring back, and I mouth a 'sorry' with more ease than I'd think possible. She sends a shaky, fragile smile, before shaking her head in what I can only read as an uncomfortable 'don't sweat it'. I try to respond with a grin of my own, feeling the heat pool in my cheeks, forcing me to turn away again. She does so as well, although I can manage to sneak a glance and see a tiny smile on her face.

"Why are you working on the editing?" I ask.

"Why not?"

"It's… unusual. You're more like the type to spend the whole hour and a half developing your hipster pictures."

A faint giggle emanates from her, which I would demand to silence if it didn't feel so comforting in this moment. I bring my chair slightly closer to her – for the sole purpose of whispering more efficiently, obviously.

"I just wanted some change, for once." I see her shrug within my field of vision.

"Is that it?"

"Well, yeah."

I slowly nod before shifting my attention to the monitor in front of me. I simply select a random picture from my folder, toying around with the settings without a purpose in mind.

"Not really."

My head turns to her in a heartbeat.

"Why, then?"

She shrugs again, her head shaking dismissively. I can see her lips wavering, as they open and close multiple times in a row, hesitation in her eyes. My left hand twitches, emitting a desire to reach out, grab hers, grip her knee, hold her in a way. A desire that I am fortunately able to suppress. I gulp, uneasy.

"I haven't really… got pictures to develop."

"Not even one picture that is good enough?"

"It's not about a picture being 'good enough'. I… I haven't taken any picture."

"Wait, you mean, at all?"

I can't prevent the surprise to seep into my voice, and I immediately notice her shifting on her seat. She rubs her left palm against her forehead, sliding it down her face and sighing into it.

"I can't take pictures."

"Since?"

A nervous laugh escapes her mouth. "One or two weeks, who knows?"

My head slightly tilts to the side, a frown in-between my eyes. I don't quite get what she is getting to, but I struggle to retain my personal judgement from overshadowing our conversation – a two-weeks break sounds like a serious lack of ambition for someone aiming to become a professional photographer.

I shake my head. This is different.

"With the recent events, I guess… it isn't that surprising." I articulate, calmly. "Still, don't let it pull you down like this. There's still the assignment to give in."

"I… don't think I can do it."

I roll my eyes. "You should be taking this more seriously. It is your career at stake."

"You wouldn't understand."

My frown deepens, out of my control. _I_ wouldn't understand? _She_ wouldn't understand. She hasn't personally been confronted to the unfairness of the art world she aspires to. She doesn't know how much willpower it takes, she hasn't witnessed first-hand how her acquaintances, friends and family were relentlessly denied, their motivation and self-esteem dragged into the mud.

She wasn't born with a Sword of Damocles above her head.

Curling my hand into a fist, I force my eyelids shut and take a deep breath. Two deep breaths. Plus some. It's okay, it's nothing. I only open my eyes again once I've felt myself recollected again.

All the while, she doesn't flinch, hardly blinks. I see her teeth sinking into the flesh of her lips, her eyes seem vacant, away, far away, way beyond this room. Weren't it for her chest heaving with every breath she takes, I could have easily assumed she was a statue.

"Caulfield?"

No response.

"Hello, Earth to Caulfield, is there anyone here?"

I hesitantly reach for her shoulder, that I meet with the tip of my fingers, carefully. She startles at the contact, stares at me with wide-eyes, as if she had only now woken up from her reverie. I ponder what I could possibly say, but eventually remain silent as I notice eyes turning to us.

"Sorry..." she whispers.

I grumble a bit, when she pulls her hands to her face, covering it entirely – and it is only then that I notice.

Those bruises on her hand.

"What is this?"

She slowly lifts her head up, and I point at her hand which she examines, with no sign of surprise visible on her facial expression. She simply closes her eyes and release a long, long sigh.

"It's... nothing of importance."

I open my mouth only to shut it a second later.

Of course, it is important. Those bruises, covering her knuckles… I have no doubt she inflicted them to herself. And from the color of it, it seems painful enough to be concerning.

"Max..."

The silence between us grows thicker with each second that passes by. I await a reply that doesn't seem to be arriving, and I can only sit in silence while I reconsider the situation. Of course, of course her mental state would take a hit after the death of her best friend. Of course, she would be facing her trauma. I knew this would be hard on her, but her behavior sets me on the edge.

Being confronted to it from up close makes it so much more difficult not to reach out and pull her in.

"I can help with your assignment."

The words felt unnatural, out of place, the epitome of awkwardness. They were strained and sharp, afraid to leave the comfort of my mind. Strings pulling in every direction from every side, uncertain where the letters belong.

But the genuine, sincere, innocent surprise in her eyes has made these caged words fly away freely, carelessly, without an ounce to carry.

"How?"

"Some coaching, some ideas. I'll figure it out."

She seems to consider the proposition, which a part of me can't help but find insulting. I _am_ offering my help, for fuck's sake. What is there to ponder about? I bite my lip in anticipation, fearing, against the better of me, a potential rejection.

"Promise you won't force me to take a picture?"

"Uh..." I trail off, slightly taken aback. "Sure? Whatever?"

"Promise?"

"Alright, alright. I promise. But if you get a shitty grade, you can't hold me responsible."

A scoff escapes her mouth before she shakes her head, her eyes opening to me. I simply stare at her, and she does it back. A smirk creeps its way onto my lips, butterflies fluttering in my stomach while all the previous knots untie.

"Victoria?"

"Mh yes?"

"Thank you. For the chocolate."

A tingling sensation travels through my body, tickling my fingers and arms and neck and back all the way down to my feet. The brightest sentiment of satisfaction overcomes me, my chest instinctively puffing up with a hint of pride, and my cheeks with a hint of pink.

"Whatever."

Her smile doesn't falter. Neither does mine. With her eyes set on mine and mine on hers, I feel the gravity around us shift, the weight on my shoulder dissipating, washing off the dread that was clinging to my back.

My heartbeat rises in content and I shiver at the thought.

The clock ticks, the bell rings, time flows.

And so do my feelings, eroding my skin.


	7. Breathlessly - Max

.

* * *

BREATHLESSLY [MAX]

* * *

I jolt and down, as the bus carries my body forward, causing my shoulder to bump into the window.

Glancing past the glass, I spot trees standing afar, their leaves losing their colors and detaching themselves from the twigs. I see a few children gathering them and jumping onto the pile while three adults sit by the bench, seemingly reading a book. I can imagine the echo of their laughter, picture the hints of a smile, but all that reaches my ears is the sound of the engine growling. All that reaches my eyes is a red and brown blur as the bus drives forward.

Until it all comes to a stop.

It takes me a few extra seconds to realize the bus has reached its final destination. I glance around myself, only now taking in the sight of the empty seats all around me.

I carefully sit up, wrapping the strap of my messenger bag around my shoulder, brushing my fingers against it to feel the edges of my camera through the fabric.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I risk a step outside, soon finding myself on my way to the nearby bench.

"Oh, __finally__ you decide to show up."

Victoria doesn't even bother to look at me, her eyes fixed on the phone-screen in her palm. Her legs are crossed, her purse sitting right next to her, no doubt hiding her monster of a camera within.

I awkwardly rub my hand against my neck.

"Sorry..."

She finally looks up, and at last, I can see her eyebrows furrowed over her eyes, turning its dark brown color into a terrifying black.

Am I too late?

"W-What's wrong?" I stutter when her stare darts back to her phone.

She sighs before stuffing the device into her purse. "That nut-head Courtney had to skip classes this morning to finish my assignment."

"Isn't that... actually nice of her?"

"What? No! She left me alone with Taylor, and she was a pain today. More so than usual, at least."

My shoulders relax before giving into a light shrug. I do remember seeing both of Victoria's slaves in my last class today, although I don't quite understand the issue here. Popular girl's issues, I suppose. She seems to shrug it off as well, and I can see a faint hint of pink on her cheeks before she suddenly stands up from the bench.

"Whatever." She whispers, briefly glancing at my right hand. "Where the heck were you?"

"What do you mean?" I reply in confusion, tilting my head slightly to the side.

She growls, visibly annoyed by my lack of perspicacity.

"This morning, in PE. That's the only class you missed. It's partly your fault that I was stuck with Taylor, so what's your excuse?"

"You mean, you would have actually talked to me if I had come?"

I see her lips open and close repeatedly, at a loss for words. At last, she manages to stutter.

"W-What? Of course not! Don't be ridiculous. Let's just hurry."

Whipping her eyes away from mine, she decides to walk past me, her shoulder nearly bumping into mine. I quickly followed after her, my legs struggling to match the pace. This is one of those times when I find myself painfully aware of just how __tall__ she is.

"How come you know I went to the other classes, then?" I ask, slightly panting. "We don't share any other class on Friday."

She comes to a stop, fortunately allowing me to catch up to her. I step by her side, glancing up at her face to see that it has frozen in a stern, serious look.

I see her grit her teeth, visibly annoyed, before she begins her stride again, at a much slower pace now.

The silence that greets us is a refreshing one, probably heightened by the chill breeze that lightly bites at my cheeks. I wordlessly gaze in her direction, briefly enough to catch a glimpse of the intense look on her face. __Is she mad?__ It doesn't seem that way to me, but then again, Victoria has been painfully unpredictable this past week, and my head hurts just trying to make sense of her behavior. This game of push and pull has rolled over my nerves, and the memories of it are enough to make me rejoice in her presence. Her powerful, yet well-controlled steps are enough of a reassurance that she is here, and she is not running away. Not this time. And so I cling onto the thought for dear hope.

I only catch myself staring once her eyes meet mine, before darting back ahead. My gaze follows hers, an uncomfortable brush coating my face.

As we distance ourselves from the road behind us, the tall trees ahead become clearer in my sight, and I cannot stop my eyebrows from raising. How am I only realizing this now?

"Do you know this place?" Victoria asks.

I nod, barely registering that she had noticed my fleeting surprise. I stare at the forest looming over us, a faint pinch of excitement in my stomach, that is quickly replaced by discomfort.

The haziness of my memories doesn't shy them away from hitting me at full force. I vaguely recall the distinctive scent of the Douglas firs, maple vines and t heir helicopter seeds, the endless lessons about trees and plants spoken in the monotone voice of my mother, and the satisfied sighs upon finding the sea down, down below. The memory all merge into a blur, similar to the fog I know usually drowns the forest in the colder seasons.

And amidst the mist, the laughter of a young Chloe Price resonates in my skull. A mirthful snicker, with tints of mischief hiding somewhere beneath, as we run off together like pirates eager to discover new lands. Oddly standing out more than my own parents' voice, I remember the half-hearted reprimand of William, followed by the much harsher one of his wife.

I haven't been to this place in… __at least__ five years.

"Is everything okay?"

I look up at the unexpected voice, finding myself strangely surprised to meet the face of a somewhat concerned Victoria Chase. __Concerned…__ It is a rare sight to behold, rare enough to knock me out of my reminiscences. I can feel my features soften, and I see hers harden in response.

"I'm fine."

She nods at me, clearly uncomfortable.

"So… this is where you want to take pictures?" I ask.

She repeats the gesture, staring at the forest behind her, and even I can see the doubts in her eyes.

Now at the forefront of my mind, I realize just how __peculiar__ her choice is. Granted, since she has so generously offered to help me with the assignment, it is with ease that I let her choose the location of our first shared photography session. While I cannot quite wrap my head around what exactly had pushed her to reach out to me, it is hard to ignore the talent laying behind those sharp eyes, that I just __know__ are very well capable of making the right decisions. I have studied her photography carefully enough to find flaws even in the shots she prides herself in, yet these flaws would include neither awkward angle, clumsy editing, nor misused technique. While her art would often turn out cold despite the intent, or perhaps simply too __cliché__ to stand out, it is commonly well-accepted that Victoria just knows her photography really, really well.

Which is probably the reason why I find myself so baffled that, Victoria Chase, of all people, would choose a forest for a chiaroscuro assignment.

The idea itself feels too cheap - it lacks in ambition, it doesn't aim to impress, which is all… very unlike anything Victoria stands for. The woman always seeks the most extravagant shots, begging to shake the viewer and imprint the picture in their mind.

Is this why she is suddenly unsure of her choice? Is this all just a ruse to trick me into failing at the assignment? No, no way, she is too prideful to resort to that.

The question presses itself against my lips, but I forcefully keep it in. I shake my head, not that she can see it while her usual assurance wavers at the sight of the trees. I take a step forward, willing her to turn to me again, which she fortunately does.

"Let's go?" I press, tentatively.

She pauses for a second, perhaps pondering, but ultimately does not object. She soundlessly retrieves her painfully expensive camera out of her purse, carefully attaching the diamond-encrusted lens to it. Disappointingly, it is not __actually__ made out of diamonds, but considering the prize, it may as well be. She wraps the strap around her neck, which manages to take me aback. It is always an odd sight, the fancy and elegant-looking Victoria Chase, in all of her glory, casually wearing a snap around her neck like any commoner. In fact, I'm surprised expensive jewelry are __not__ carved into it somehow.

I snap out of my reverie as her eyes meet mine, one of her eyebrow raised in question.

"Are you not getting yours?" She asks.

I freeze for a few ridiculous seconds before getting the meaning behind her question. Right. She is not here to flaunt her possessions.

I gulp with difficulty, glancing at my messenger bag. It pales in comparison to… well, any of Victoria's belongings. I push the thought at the back of my mind, as Victoria's glare intensifies, clearly growing impatient. My jaw tightens, as I reach towards my camera with a shaky hand, grabbing it as firmly as my feeble fingers would allow.

I bring the device at face-level, and as my heart stutters in my chest, I very quickly regret forcing my previous train of thought away.

I don't want to do this.

 _ _I don't want to do this.__

I can hear, somewhere, dimly from my murky memories, the faint sound of a camera shutters. I feel a cold, freezing sweat clinging to my back, and I shake my head, hard, to force the feelings out of my body.

Briefly, I catch a glimpse of yet another of Victoria's worried expressions, before she whips her face away from my sight, not wasting any second before stepping towards the forest. I will my breathing to even itselves in my chest, before I follow after her, camera in hand.

I observe her glancing around the trees, tiptoeing around a few of them, facing the sunlight. I catch her eyes darting to me every few seconds, but she appears to have enough control over her face not to let her emotions escape from it. Giving up on getting a better reading of the woman, I decide to focus on her gestures – her movements, her stance, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration, even though her camera still lies peacefully in her hands, they all mirror a performance I know I used to carry. Not anymore.

She peeks at me again, her lips slowly parting.

"There is a pretty, small cliff nearby, you know?" I ask in a rush, cutting any sound that may have escaped from her mouth.

She frowns at me. "I know."

"O-Oh… Do you wanna go there, maybe?"

"Yes, that was my intention. But for now, let's just stay here. The sun will begin to go down in a bit, so until then, this is our chance to get a proper shot at these trees."

I wordlessly nod at her explanation. Before she gets any chance to inquire, I walk towards a nearby tree, camera trembling in my hands. I do not feign analyzing the land, processing the angle of the sunlight, studying the shadows – I genuinely do these.

But I know the occasional lift of the camera is nothing but a farce. I force my lips into contemplative pout, never failing to lower my hands, as if deciding that, 'um, no, never mind, this shot is not worth taking, let's try something else'. And I repeat the process, as many times as it will take until she realizes the scam.

She realizes sooner than I expect.

"Do you actually intend to take any picture?"

I wince, carefully looking up at her.

"I- um… I can't see to find any good shot." I mutter, laughing awkwardly at just how tense my voice sounds.

She rolls her eyes at me, clearly not buying my lame excuses, not that I can blame her.

"Since when have you been so concerned with how your pictures turn out?"

I shrug. Polaroid films are expensive, I guess I could say, but she most likely would not buy that either. I settle for silence, hoping that she would simply give up and forget my existence for a moment. It takes a few minutes, but she eventually does, turning her back to me with a clearly audible 'tsk'.

I turn away as well, silently sighing, the feeling that I've just __barely__ avoided a battle lingers on my skin.

But then the whir and clicks of a camera's shutters resonate.

Echoing achingly loud through the forest, the noise aggressively invades my ears, screeching at them, yelling in my skull. I bring my hands to both sides of my head.

It sends a shiver through my spine, hitting hard at my nape. I furiously scratch at my neck, willing the prickling sensation to go away. I nearly puke on the spot as I remember the __sting__ , the numbness, the endless void of whites and grays, his-

"Max, what's wrong?"

I lower my hands and shake my head, refocusing my gaze on her frame. She stands with her body slightly curved, an elbow nestled against her hip, while the hand at its extremities still holds her own camera. She seems awfully authoritative despite the hints of worry seeping into her voice.

"Nothing, don't mind me."

I reach out to grab my camera, which I have accidentally dropped on the floor earlier. I examine it carefully, relieving a sigh once I notice it seems intact. I still feel Victoria's glare on me, clearly discontent with my answer. It takes her an extra second to return to her previous task, still keeping me in her line of sight as she rotates her body away.

My jaw tightens in anticipation.

And then I hear another shutter, forcing flashes of pain in the form of profound memories, resurfacing in my mind, clawing on their way.

It hurts, indescribably so.

"Are you… feeling okay?" I hear Victoria ask.

I take in a deep breath, nodding slowly.

"Yes, I'm fine. I just- I don't think I can take pictures today..."

"Why not?"

She raises an eyebrow, to which I simply shrug.

"What? What is it?"

I wince. I don't want to have this conversation. Not now, not when my breath runs short and my heartbeat tries so desperately to race with it. Not ever, probably.

"It's… complicated."

"What's complicated?" She scoffs. "Just press the shutter and there, you've got a picture."

"It's not that simple..."

"How is it not? It's always been that simple."

I feel the shame pressing against the back on my head, forcing my gaze towards the ground. A few twigs lay at our feet, broken and alone. I see the shadow of her arm fly around in confusion.

"I don't get it." She snarls. "I've seen you do nothing but take useless pictures for a month now. What's changed?"

 _ _So, so much has changed…__

But my lips only tremble, refusing to part and let the words out. I keep staring at our feet, feeling my own legs shake under my weight.

"What has changed?"

She is not going to relent, is she?

"For fuck's sake, Max."

Regret creeps its way into my guts, slowly and achingly. If I hadn't come here with her, I wouldn't find myself in this situation, would I? I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have accepted her help. I shouldn't have sought out for her. I shouldn't have carved into her warmth. I shouldn't have sacr-

It burns, it burns __so much__. So much pain gnawing in my stomach, my insides seething in the poisonous emotion.

There is so much I wish to take back. So many decisions I regret, crawling under my skin, bursting at my core.

"You wouldn't understand…"

Who would?

 _ _Chloe would.__

And I can't take her back.

"Oh, would you stop with that?" She growls, grabbing my shoulders. "What do you think __I__ can't understand? What do you think __you__ understand?"

She shakes my body, forcing me to look up. Her gaze is dead-set on mine, burning holes into the blue of my eyes. I see a wave of hurt crashing into her features. For a split second, only for a split second, I empathize with her pain. My arm slowly reaches towards hers.

"Is this about Jefferson, is that it?"

The name penetrates my lungs, clogging my throat, and I choke on it, excruciatingly.

"I admired him too. Believe it or not, he was __my idol__ , he was my inspiration. His words and his art, they carried me through the day, they pushed me as an artist, they gave me strength, and all of... that is gone now! And Nathan, Nathan…. he..." Her voice quiets down before starting again in a yell. "Do you think you're the only one suffering? You're not, Max, wake the fuck up, we're all a mess!"

Her voice trips over its tangle of emotions, reaching a high I had only ever heard once coming from her.

' _ _Help me, Max! Please… I'm sorry for everything...'__

I shake her arms off of me, frantically brushing a hand against my eyes to prevent any tear from leaking. I bite my lower lip, forcing my eyes to remain tightly shut.

' _ _Max… I believe you...'__

It hurts, it hurts to recall. To recall this voice again, so desperate, so broken.

Victoria had believed in me, once. And she died as a result. At the hands of a man she once believed in, too. She doesn't remember any of this, there is no way she could, and yet… and yet, somehow, the pain remains, in a different shape, a different form. Firmly lodged within her, I recognize it.

I really wish I wouldn't.

"I'm sorry."

For so much more than she would ever believe.

At the sound of my voice, her gaze glances away, shying away from mine. I hear a sniff coming from her, but no trace of tear is to be found in the brown of her eyes.

"I shouldn't… I shouldn't have ignored… that it all affected you, too." I start, trying hard to think my words through despite how numb my brain feel. "But you promised not to force me. I'm not- you don't __have to__ understand why, but if you can't accept it, then- then, please, leave me alone."

The words hurt as they escape my throat, forcing their way through my mouth to appear somewhat coherent for the world to see.

She finally turns to me again, her face twisted in a frown that I have never witnessed before. My heart misses a beat.

Against my best hopes, I realize how this game of push and pull might just end right here, right now, in the way I want least. Against my clearest thoughts, I find myself painfully aware of how the idea of losing her makes my heart throb.

But against my worst assumptions, she battles with a sigh.

"Okay."

My eyes grow wide in surprise, barely processing her response.

"Okay?"

"Yes, okay, fine."

"Really?"

"Yes!" She mumbles in exasperation. "I won't insist. Don't take pictures, that's your problem. I'll just take mine."

"Are you still going to help me?"

Her mouth quickly opens, ready to shot back words that I assume to be harsh. But she presses her lips back together, as she seems to get lost in thought for a moment.

"How?"

I blink. Once, twice. Again.

"How? How can I help?" She continues, rolling her eyes. "I haven't… been doing such a good job at it so far, have I?"

"I guess… just… keep taking pictures?"

I purposefully ignore the last thing she said, which I am sure she notices, as she visibly winces before rolling her eyes again in an attempt to save face.

"So… you think me taking pictures is going to help you somehow?"

"That's the best idea I've got."

She scoffs, but seems to accept my suggestion nonetheless, offering a small nod in response.

Wordlessly, she spins around, taking a few steps forward and away from me. I hurry my way to her, trying to match her steps yet again, although grateful that she makes the effort to slow down.

And so we march in silence, our feet carefully avoiding the roots of the trees, instead crushing a weak twigs laying around. My attention is entirely focused on the ground, as I take extra measures to remain on my two feet and not trip, until my concentration is broken by a loud, pensive hum.

I only now realize that Victoria has stopped a few feet behind me, her camera raised in her hands as she snaps a picture, her humming stopping a precise second after the shutters go off.

I wince at the noise, taking in a sharp breath. It keeps ringing in my skull for what seems to be like a couple of minutes, under the careful gaze of the tall woman. She only moves once my gaze refocuses and settles down. She hums again a few steps later, activating the shutter again.

Only four pictures later do I notice.

The low vibrations of her voice resonate exactly three seconds before she takes the picture. Three seconds, no more, no less. Then it lingers for an extra one, somehow trying to cover the unbearable noise with her voice.

 _ _She is trying to warn me before she takes a picture.__

The realization strikes me with both awe and glee. A warm, reassuring confirmation that she does try, in her own way, to help. It feels… pleasant. Refreshingly so. A "thank you" lingers on my lips, but I decide against its freedom. I fear that words would break the wonder of this moment, that it would contrast too starkly against the humility of her efforts.

So I simply smile at her when she hums for the fifth time.

Precisely six pictures later, I finally raise my voice, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us.

"The sun is almost settling down."

"I know." She looks at me with a flat stare. "Do you want to go back?"

"Do you?"

She rolls her eyes at the redirected question, but I recognize the light curve of her lip – I don't think she does, however.

"I want to see the cliff", I admit.

She merely proceeds to take the lens off her camera, quietly stuffing both components back into her purse.

"Of course, you do. It's more of a wanna-be-cliff, but I'm not surprised you'd take an interest in such a quaint scenery."

"You were the one to choose this place, Victoria."

She pouts.

Where I expect a frown, or a burning glare, I end up finding a pout. Not a condescending, reprimanding one, not at all, no. Just a pout, as if she calmly yet somehow disappointingly recognizes the flaw in her logic. No more, no less.

And yet, I find this one simple pout so fascinatingly endearing.

We both soon find our way to the 'wanna-be-cliff', as she so puts it.

Really, it is more of a hill than a cliff, yet its edge is sharp enough to easily glance down at the sea below. The blues and whites of the waves dance, the wind carrying the tempo. The leaves above shuffle as well, the shadows swaying by the grass.

The sun is grazing the horizon, its tip beginning to hide behind the mountains facing us.

I sit down on the ground, patting the space beside me as I look up to Victoria, standing a few feet beside me. She scorns at the suggestion, remaining where she stands, arms crossed against her chest as she stares ahead. I follow her gaze as well, taking in the whole scenery.

The memories attached to this specific area make an attempt at clogging my mind again. I used to dislike this place. Often dragged along by my parents, who insisted on a 'monthly and healthy walk into the wild!'. It scared me. I could tell, even as a young child, that they were hoping for something, a certain reaction, out of me. But all I knew was to snap pictures left and right, and this wasn't quite what they expected. Every time they begged me to 'put this down', 'look at this, __with your eyes__!', I could tell I was doing something wrong.

They wanted me to connect with the world.

But Chloe understood me, she understood my passion for photography.

Taking pictures has always been how __I__ connect with the world.

Had.

I hear footsteps beside me, quietly approaching. Glancing up, I see Victoria, running her fingers through blonde locks. Her hand remains on her nape, rubbing it awkwardly as her gaze avoids mine. She slowly settles down, sitting at my right side. She brings her knees closer to her torso, delicately wrapping her arms around them.

The orange hues of the sky reflects on her skin, but I still notice a hint of pink on her cheeks.

I wonder, for a brief second, why she would change her mind and finally sit next to me – but I found her __actually sitting next to me__ much more important. I hear a heavy sigh coming from her, before she bashfully risks a glance at me, rapidly darting it away again. We both stare at the waves below us, their slow dance ongoing, never-ending, somehow reminding me of just how exhausted this week has been.

"How was your day?"

Her voice is a little hoarse, but surprisingly gentle, in that firm way only she can handle. I hum a little, both in thought and as a way to prepare my response.

"It was… draining."

My focus intensifies on the water, as if somehow blaming it for my current state of powerlessness.

"Is this why you missed classes?"

I nod quietly. "I needed more sleep."

A quick breath on my right has me peeking at her, only to notice a little smile at the corner of her lips. It looks so… free, genuine, authentic, and my mind freezes at the sight. She turns to me, her brown eyes intensely washing over my face, lingering on my cheeks and nose, possibly counting freckles.

"I hope it helped, then..."

She whispers so softly I nearly miss it.

Admittedly, I don't quite understand it. Victoria can be so infuriating sometimes – most of the time, to be honest. She rarely ever tones down her condescending remarks, often just shoving them into my face with disdain. She tears down my walls so effortlessly, only to remind me why they had been there in the first place – to shield myself from her sharp and pointed words, stabbing precisely where it hurts. In just a minute, she can make me regret bringing my guard down to begin with.

And then, unexpectedly, I find myself caught in moments such as this one. Moments in which I doubt that anything could be more soothing than her presence so close to me. When I can __feel__ her care, her tenderness, so soft and kind… without so much as a touch, she wraps me in a gentle blanket of warmth, where I can feel safe.

In these moments, I am allowed to see a side of her that I would never hope to see, one I would never even expect to exist. It is a fragile, delicate facet of her that I can only catch glimpses of, before it recoils back in fear, or perhaps shame. And as it does, the heat dissipates, leaving me frozen and wondering if it had ever been there in the first place.

So, admittedly, I don't quite understand Victoria.

And this frustrates me more than I would have thought.

Because I don't want to let go of these moments.

This solace, I realize, can only be found in her embrace. As our bodies shuffle closer, seeking the body warmth of one another, it dawns on me just how much I need her. So, with a pinch of guilt in my heart, I selfishly hold onto it, scurrying yet even closer to her, my cheek lightly resting against her shoulder.

She doesn't move, doesn't even flinch. Perhaps would it be wishful thinking to notice that she leans into me too.

My face shakes a little as she shifts, sliding her left hand between us. I feel a feather-light touch brushing against my wrist, cautiously gracing my bruised knuckles, so carefully I would barely even sense it. The contact feels strange, perhaps a little intrusive, but nowhere near as painful as I would have thought.

"Max..."

My name feels oddly naked, coming from her mouth. But her voice is still mindful, slightly wavering.

"Is this… this bruise... from that night I came into your room?"

I nod, wordlessly, knowing that she can't see but feel. She releases a heavy breath, and I ponder how long she has held it in.

"I'm sorry."

I shake my head this time, refusing the apology I know is not needed. Denying her a chance to insist, I raise my hand up before I wrap it around hers as gently as I can manage. I hear her breath hitch, but her hand remains, within mine, lightly squeezing my fingers in what I assume to be a silent form of approval.

We both release an appeased sigh in union, allowing the fresh air to bring us closer.

I feel a hint of pride lodged in my chest, ever-so-grateful to see this side, this precious side of her. I refuse to let go.

For now, just for now, I will bask in this moment, clinging onto it as I do with her hand.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hng I'm not sure how to feel about this chapter. I tried to highlight how confusing Victoria is (since she, herself, is dealing with her own internal conflicts), but I hope her development through this chapter is still consistent enough to be understood.

This, however, shall soon mark the end of the first 'arc' of the story. I'm deeply sorry for the slow updates, I hope I can at least keep them somewhat regular. ;-;  
Thanks a lot for reading and holding onto this!


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